


Blossoms

by akaihoshi



Category: Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: Alternate Universe, Beauty and the Beast, Eventual Smut, Graphic Depictions of Transformations, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Memory Loss, Swan Prince, dragon!soren, half-dragon sex, kind of, or heron prince I guess?, retainer!Ike, that's my thing I guess, this fic came out of my frustration with existing hanahaki stories, trigger warning: viral pandemic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:22:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 42,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22643299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akaihoshi/pseuds/akaihoshi
Summary: “She wouldn’t be the first to choose death over losing the memories of the one she loves,” He deposits the petals into the box Ike’s holding along with the lone sunflower, “And she won’t be the last.”“But why!? I mean -” Ike looks at the lifeless woman on the bed and swallows, “You… she can always make more memories. New ones. Why choose this? ”Greil doesn’t reply right away. His back is hunched in resignation. He turns his head and Ike can only swallow at the sheer look of exhaustion that the flickering light of the lamp cuts into his face.“It’s never that simple, Ike,” Greil says with more weight to his words than Ike understands. He straightens his posture and forces a small smile, “Now, c’mon. Let’s get this place cleaned up,” Greil says rolling up his sleeves, “You know the drill - petals in the box, body in the sheets, and then off to the church for the service. The family wants this place burned by sundown.”---Beauty and the Beast (+ the swan Prince because more fairy tales is always better) with a new twist on Hanahaki.[NOTE] Please see chapter 2 for notes about the trigger warning.
Relationships: Ike & Senerio | Soren, Ike/Senerio | Soren, Reyson/Tibarn (Fire Emblem)
Comments: 47
Kudos: 99





	1. Prologue - Roots

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kataury](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kataury/gifts).



> First chapter is a little short for my standards and somehow I just feel like my writing is slipping a bit...  
> But honestly? While my energies are really being pumped into other parts of life, sometimes I just wanna tell a good story, you know? 
> 
> I may not have all the time and energy I want to put into this story, but I still want it to exist. So with that said, I hope you enjoy this little fic of mine. I've been wanting to take a stab at Hanahaki for a long time so I hope you're in for a short but (hopefully) enjoyable ride!
> 
> (Also this is a gift for @Kataury since she did so much organizing a secret santa on the Ike/Soren discord and ended up on getting a gift herself! Sorry I'm so slow, Kat!)

The sun stains the sky a foreboding shade of red as it slowly hides itself behind a distant mountain range. It casts the battlefield in sickly orange hues, pale dust clouds settling as yet another soldier falls, too spent to fight back any longer. 

It’s deathly quiet. Few remain standing. Bodies litter what was once a large open and fertile plain. All that remains is a barren, scorched stretch of land and the pride of two kings.

King Ashnard is a beast of a man, tall and broad, pale skin caked with dirt and blood yet still sporting a wild grin.It’s almost as though he still believes his entire army is still standing behind him banging their shields and raising a ferocious cry to victory. 

But there is no one left.

He walks across his fallen men like they’re a fine carpet, relishing the sounds of bones and flesh cracking beneath his feet.

He stops in the middle of the field where the first waves of soldiers met their end and raises his blade towards his opponent in challenge.

“Come at me, Dheginsea!” He roars, gnashing his teeth and grinning, “Let us settle this.”

Dheginsea stands still across the field from him. He makes no movement. His army is tired and weary, but Ashnard will not surrender, and Dheginsea cannot afford to let him live. The man is more than a king or a soldier. By his own might he could slay the few men who remain standing under Dheginsea’s flag should he fail to strike the Mad King down himself. 

And then what? Would Ashnard invade his kingdom? Slaughter his people by the thousands like he had done along their borders?

No.

He can’t afford to let that happen. Not again.

Dheginsea’s grip on his spear tightens.

There are no battle cries when Dheginsea sprints towards Ashnard, just a small collective intake of breath from his soldiers. 

Ashnard parries and strikes, misses then spins and strikes again. They’re equally matched and although Dheginsea is quicker, Ashnard’s attacks are heavy and force him back far too much to permit a quick retaliation.

Ashnard’s sinister laughter rings loud and clear amidst the duel. Strike after strike, parry after parry, his laughter descends quickly into a crazed shriek of enjoyment when he finally draws blood.

The few who remain on the battlefield do not cheer, or move at all. They stand transfixed, hearts skipping to the sound of clanging metal. Any blow could be the final one. Any blow could spell victory for one side, and the death of a King for the other.

And then it happens. Ashnard’s counterstance is too open, too wide, and Dheginsea hurls his spear through the Mad King’s chest.

Everything grows still.

Eyes wide and a toothy grin on his face, Ashnard looks into the eyes of his killer, and laughs once more. 

His sword falls to the dirt as the sun finally fades from the sky. A battle lost. A King slain.

The mad king dies standing.

\-----

“We have to go. Quickly!” Almedha says, voice straining to be heard above the din of the castle. She tugs her young son along behind her, a single suitcase for the two of them in her other hand. Hardly fitting for a Queen.

But her castle is in a state of frenzied panic. Servants and soldiers rush to grab what little they can pack, knocking over chairs, tables, and shelves. Dishes are broken, vashes accidentally knocked and smashed. The fastest ones race for the door without looking back. The rest scramble and claw at each other arguing ownership over simple foodstuffs.

“Mother, what’s going on? Why is everyone leaving?” Her son asks. He’s too young to truly understand the gravity of the situation, but too old to be denied even a simple explanation. 

“There’s no time, Pelleas. We have to leave before-” She barely gets the words out of her mouth as they reach the main staircase when a voice from the upper floor cries out.

“They’re here!”

The castle falls silent instantly.

Almedha shields Pelleas with the skirts of her dress, fear washing over her like an arctic tidal wave.

She’s too late. There’s nowhere to run.

The ornate double doors in the Main Hall, previously opened only slightly, swing completely open, blinding them all with the light of the setting sun.

No one dares to move.

Only the sound of footsteps can be heard echoing throughout the hall as Dheginsea slowly enters into view followed by march of a hundred foot soldiers.

This is their new King. The one who slayed their ruler and thereby conquered their nation. This is the man who will decide their fate.

The entire castle falls to its knees, head touching the ground, arms outstretched - a sign of total surrender. Perhaps he would be merciful and at least spare their lives.

Dheginsea pays them no heed. His eyes scan the room carefully until they spot Almedha, the only person left standing.

He walks towards her slowly, stopping only once they stand a mere foot or so apart. He looks down upon her, staring at her the same way a starving lion would stare at a cornered antelope. She doesn’t cower or tremble, holding his gaze without so much as blinking.

It feels like an age before he moves and then…

He pulls her into his arms.

“My child,” He whispers, “My dear, sweet daughter… My Almedha.”

“F-father…” She barely manages to say the word, like she had forgotten what it meant.

He pulls back with a fond smile, hands griping her shoulders.

“I have been looking for you for so, so long. Fifteen years, I’ve been searching,” He draws in a deep, prideful breath, “After all this time. Finally,  _ finally _ , you can come home.”

Almedha opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. She tries a few more times, but before she can say anything at all, Dheginsea’s face twists into an outraged sneer.

He shoves her aside and glares down at the cowering child he hadn’t seen before.

The same deep black hair. Those red eyes. That chin…

“Almedha… you…” His voice vibrates with thinly veiled rage. Almedha doesn’t speak, and neither does Pelleas, pinned by the ferocious gaze of his grandfather.

Without warning, Dheginsea slaps Almedha across the face. She lets out a scream as she tumbles down the stairs and hits the cold stone floor.

“Mom!” Pelleas tries to run to her, but Dheginsea grabs him by the hair and drags him along behind him instead ignoring his cries of pain. Almedha slowly gets to her knees only to come face to face with her father’s wrath.

“You bore his  _ child?! _ ” He hisses with a deadly venom. Pelleas starts to shake.

“Let him go, father!” She says, weak but still defiant.

“You bore that monster a  _ son!?” _ Dheginsea continues.

“Father, please…” She pleads from her place on the floor, but he doesn’t heed her.

“Do you have  _ any _ idea what that man has done to us? To our country? Our family?” He says with a small incredulous laugh.

“He was a good man-” She snaps back.

“A good man,” Dheginsea’s voice grows low as he kneels beside her, “Would never have enslaved his own people! A  _ good man _ would not have slaughtered them by the dozen!” He laughs just a little, “He started a war with us… for  _ fun.” _ He touches her face with only his fingertips, “He stole you from me.”

She opens her mouth to protest, but Dheginsea covers it with a tight grip before she can say a single word. He leans in close and hisses.

“If you were not my daughter I would have had you executed for treason.”

He releases her bruised cheeks and turns his attention to the quietly crying child clutched beneath his other hand.

“But,” He stands and releases Pelleas who quickly stumbles to his mother’s side, “Perhaps I was too lenient with you growing up. And perhaps,” He stares down at the petrified child clinging to his mother, “This is a good opportunity to learn a little lesson.”

Dheginsea flicks his wrist and Almedha’s eyes grow wide with fright.

“Father, wait!” But her plea falls on deaf ears.

There’s a burst of light that rips Pelleas from Almedha’s side, lifting him above the ground and sending shockwaves through the air.

The cowering servants in the castle look up only for a moment, too afraid to move lest they be targeted next.

“This is no child,” Dheginsea roars as lightning crackles through the room, “This… is a  _ monster! _ ”

Pelleas clutches at his throat, gasping for air, his mother’s screams unable to reach him within the light.

“Pathetic! Heartless! Just like your cursed father,” He cries, “His death was too swift… but you… yes… you shall suffer in his place. You and every person in his godforsaken kingdom who supported him!”

“Father stop! Please! He’s just a child!” Almedha cries, but it’s too late. 

The castle shakes, the stones beneath them tremble, and suddenly a golden vine bursts through the floor. It coils around Pelleas and sends its vines curling and clinging to the walls of the castle.

“No…!” Almedha brokenly whispers through her tears.

“Heartless child… You will seek out the hearts of this kingdom to fill the void where yours should have been, stealing the things they love and losing what makes you human…” The light, once pure and golden in color, bleeds with red. Wind howls throughout the room, carrying Dheginsea’s voice beyond the castle walls and deep into the hearts of his witnesses.

“And then,” Dheginsea continues with a victorious roar, “When you’re finally the monster I know you to be, you’ll die detested and alone with no one left to lay a single flower on your grave.”    
  
“No!” Almedha cries once more. 

There’s another brilliant flash of light… It snaps sending shockwaves through the air with the force of a small hurricane.

The light finally fades. 

Pelleas falls several feet to the floor. He coughs and coughs trying to regain his breath but the pain in his chest is unbearable. 

Dheginsea gestures for his soldiers to fetch Almedha. “We’re leaving.”

“No! No, we can’t leave him here!” She screams as several soldiers hoist her up by her arms, “Pelleas!”

“Mom!” He croaks before doubling over in a coughing fit.

“Pelleas!” She screams again.

Suddenly the entire room is filled with the sounds of coughing. Almedha’s eyes dart from servant to servant, confused and concerned. She sees the first flower petal on the lips of her former chambermaid, and before she has time to contemplate her actions, she breaks free from her captors. 

She raises her arms, pale green light dancing to the tips of her rusty fingers as she recites a spell she had long since forgotten, and aims at her father.

“Stupid child,” Dheginsea curses under his breath. His own fingers glow with practiced speed, releasing his spell just as Almedha finishes the final verse of her own.

The spells meet mid-air, mixing and melding and blasting everyone in the room in a sickly light that permeates their skin.

She feels, rather than hears their screams and the horror sinks in before the light even begins to fade.

“No…” She whispers looking around the now empty room, “No!”

Where there were once people, there was now only furniture. Chairs, clocks, candlesticks… enough to furnish the castle twice over. Her spell had backfired.

She lets out a shriek as her father grabs her by the hair.

“You’d turn your magic against your own father?” He tsks, “I see we really have our work cut out for us.” 

He looks around the room with vague interest then releases her and turns to leave. The soldiers take hold of her once again and drag her screaming for her son from the palace entry way.

Pelleas watches the doors close before him, leaving him alone in the dark.

“Mother…?” He cries weakly, cold stone against his cheek.

A single red petal drops to the floor.


	2. Seeds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT NOTE ABOUT THE TRIGGER WARNING  
> I completed the outline for this fic in December 2019. At that time, I knew nothing about the current pandemic that's so prevalent today.  
> C19 means different things to different people. Some are pretty detached from it, and others are scared and directly affected. Seeing as this fic deals directly with a viral-like pandemic in a country under quarantine (even though the roots are magic in origin), I wanted to make sure that those who are scared or who are using fanfiction as a means of escape from today's current events, had the up-front warnings they need.
> 
> So here's the details- This fic contains:  
> \- A country under quarantine  
> \- a viral-like pandemic (hanahaki) of unknown origins and limited treatment options  
> \- general insensitivity to people to refuse treatment  
> \- graphic depictions of a disease that infects the lungs (hanahaki)
> 
> If any of this sounds like it will make your anxiety about C19 worse, please bookmark this fic for later and read it once things settle. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you for understanding. I'm not very good about tagging for non-obvious triggers, but I'm trying to be better. Please let me know if there's anything I missed.  
> \--------------------
> 
> Also I ended up adding another chapter, so this fic will be 5 chapters long (well, 4 + the prologe)

“Another one…” Greil says with a low grunt.

The room is dark, save for what little seeps through from the open bedroom door.

Although it’s difficult to see, Ike can make out the shapes of furniture, a single oil lamp on the dresser, and a faint hint of the rising sun peeking through the drawn curtains. 

A thousand petals litter the floor. He doesn’t need any light to know what’s happened - to know what’s in the room.

“Why,” Ike asks, voice hushed, “How did no one notice?” His father looks down at him, then back to the pale outline of the figure lying on the bed.

“She probably kept it hidden,” Greil moves towards the bed and bends down for a closer look, “Didn’t want anyone to know.”

Ike doesn’t want to move from the entrance, but he moves closer anyway. He strikes a match and lights the oil lamp, careful not to flinch at the sight of the delicate yellow petals littering the floor amidst small droplets of blood. 

She must have been coughing all night for there to be so many - maybe on and off for days. It was possible she would hide here whenever she had a particularly bad coughing fit so her family couldn’t see her blossoming. 

What a shock it must have been to find her like this.

“But we could have helped her,” Ike says.

“Then she didn’t want to be helped,” Greil lets his hand hover over her face, feeling for any sign of life - warmth, or a faint puff of air - but there’s nothing, as expected. With a deep, heavy sigh, he lifts the bloodstained sunflower from her lips and holds it out for Ike to take.

Ike fumbles for a moment, but opens a small wooden box for his father to place it in.

“You mean she didn’t want to forget,” Ike says bitterly. 

Greil sweeps a few petals off the bedside table.

“She wouldn’t be the first to choose death over losing the memories of the one she loves,” He deposits the petals into the box Ike’s holding along with the lone sunflower, “And she won’t be the last.”

“But  _ why!? _ I mean -” Ike looks at the lifeless woman on the bed and swallows, “You… she can always make more memories. New ones. Why choose  _ this? _ ”

Greil doesn’t reply right away. His back is hunched in resignation. He turns his head and Ike can only swallow at the sheer look of exhaustion that the flickering light of the lamp cuts into his face.

“It’s never that simple, Ike,” Greil says with more weight to his words than Ike understands. He straightens his posture and forces a small smile, “Now, c’mon. Let’s get this place cleaned up,” Greil says rolling up his sleeves, “You know the drill - petals in the box, body in the sheets, and then off to the church for the service. The family wants this place burned by sundown.”

“...Right…” Ike sets the box down on a nearby table and gets to work.

\-----

Although they have become a more common sight in recent years, there was something incredibly unnerving about attending a funeral pyre before noon. Waking up to the sound of the church bell’s haunting toll, just knowing that one more person has fallen to the Hanahaki, was enough to leave anyone shaken. Goddess forbid that the tolling bell be for someone you knew.

He watches her burn, the woman who died amidst a sea of sunflowers, and wonders why anyone would want to put their friends and family through this.

She had a choice, and she chose death.

It makes Ike sick.

“Poor thing.”

“At least she had the sense to die in bed. She kept the flowers in tact.”

“So much wasted potential.”

“Why didn’t she tell anyone?”

“Wonder who she died over...” 

“Must be a handsome guy, that’s for sure.”

“She could have been saved. What a stupid girl…”

Ike wants to scream at the crowd for their disrespect, but his father claps a hand on his shoulder and Ike stills. 

Yelling at them won’t help the woman’s family.

Shouting at them won’t bring her back.

He looks instead to the grief stricken faces of her family crying in silent resignation from the other side of the pyre as they watch their loved one burn.

As the smoke clears, so does the crowd. The officiates tend the coals and gather the ashes to spread out to sea while the local stone mason returns to his workshop to make another tombstone for a body-less grave. It will serve more as a memorial for her family than anything else. 

“You alright?” Greil asks with a reassuring hand on his shoulder. 

Ike continues to watch the burning coals for a moment before closing his eyes.

“Yeah,” He says, “It just… never gets easier, does it?”

His father gives his shoulder a light squeeze in response. 

“Best thing we can do is keep busy. And you’ve got a job to do today,” He says, reaching into a leather sack. 

“I do?” Ike blinks. Not many people continue to work on days when a body is burned. Least of all a mercenary.

Greil gives him a look with an incredulous tinge that immediately twists into resignation. It’s a confusing display of emotions, and although Ike wants to comment on it, he’s at a loss for exactly what to say.

“Oh… Right… I guess I hadn’t told you yet,” Greil turns and motions for Ike to follow, “Walk with me.”

Ike trots a bit to catch up with his father and waits impatiently for him to continue. 

They’re about halfway home by the time he does.

“Ike,” Greil finally says.

“Yes?” Ike responds a little too quickly, desperate to know what his father is thinking.

“How would…” Greil clears his throat, “How would you like to be the liaison for the Arcsage?”

Ike nearly trips over his own two feet.

“The Arcsage?!” He chokes out, “You’re serious?”

“It’s a big responsibility,” Greil says gravely, “The entire kingdom relies on the Arcsage to treat the Hanahaki. Without him, we wouldn’t have a chance.”

Greil stops and looks Ike square in the eyes. 

Ike swallows, a buzzing bundle of excitement and nerves.

“You’ll escort patients to his residence, move goods, and most importantly,” Greil moves just a little closer, “You keep him safe.”

It’s an incredible honor. The Arcsage is only permitted to have a single liaison at any given time to keep his location - and identity - secret and safe. For him to have been selected is a downright marvel.

“Think you can do that?” His father asks with a confident smirk.

Ike takes a few deep breaths, chest puffed out with pride.

“Yes sir!” Ike says with a cheek splitting grin. Greil lets out a boisterous laugh, and slaps Ike on the back.

“Good lad,” He offers Ike the small wooden box from earlier, “Then for today, your job is to take this box to the Arcsage. And you make sure he gets it. These petals are used to make a medicine that slows the Hanahaki down. It buys us more time,” Ike takes the box and tucks it into the satchel on his belt.

“Understood,” Ike says with bravado. He’s more than ready to take on the task, there’s just… one small problem, “So… where  _ is _ the Arcsage…?”

Greil chuckles.

“Head west through the wood on the old trade road to Nebula. Ragnell knows the way from there,” Greil continues walking, disappearing behind an empty market stall before his perplexed son can fully register his words.

“Wait a second, why does my horse know how to get there!?” Ike shouts after him, “Dad? Who’s been riding Ragnell without telling me? Dad? Hey!”

\-----

As it turns out, Ragnell does know the way to the Arcsage’s residence, and Ike is quite baffled by it. The cream colored mare has always been a little too smart for her own good, but it’s not as though she can read a map. It’s a little frustrating to realize that someone else has been riding her without him knowing. 

But as irritated as that makes him feel, he doesn’t dwell on it long, too enamored with the idea of finally meeting the infamous - but secretive - Arcsage.

He’s so secretive in fact, that Ike has yet to find a single soul beyond his father who’s even met him - which would make sense, since only the liaisons were made privy of his location. But it was odd that no one knew  _ anything  _ about him. His age, hometown, or even what he looked like… it was all a mystery.

As far as anyone knew, he’d taken up residence on the outskirts of Nevassa perhaps six years ago and hasn’t stepped foot outside his home even once. Not once had he shown his face in town, or to anyone for that matter - not even his father knows what he looks like, and Greil was the first to discover the Arcsage.

He was also the first one to survive the Hanahaki.

And it causes Ike to wonder… who exactly is this mysterious person? A wizened old man perhaps, tired of social niceties and content to live out his retirement in relative solitude? Or perhaps an aspiring sorcerer too wrapped up in his studies to bother with other people.

It was anyone’s guess, really.

Regardless, the Arcsage had pledged his aid to the former Kingdom of Daein. No one knows why, but no one questions it either, for his arrival in Nevassa had halted the spread of the Hanahaki. 

Ike is forever grateful. 

He rounds one final bend and Ragnell slows her pace as the gates of the palace come into view. 

Rusted wrought iron is bent and twisted, covered in creeping vines and moss. The gate itself is bent in half, barely hanging on one hinge and half buried in the ground. The stone pillar it leans against is nothing more than a partially stacked pile of rocks with no mortar left to hold them together.

He dismounts and leads Ragnell through the gates on foot. She doesn’t spook, which Ike takes as a good sign, even as they pass several broken carriages and odd stone statues obscured by foliage. Even with the sun high in the sky, the castle feels as though it’s in shadow. 

And it’s quiet.

Ike absently fingers the hilt of the sword at his waist.

He stops in front of the ornate wooden doors, ten feet tall and imposing even with a thick layer of dirt and moss on them, a small silver bell mounted off to the side. His father had specifically instructed him to wait by the entrance until someone comes to fetch him but… Ike is starting to doubt anyone even lives here.

But he sits on the stone steps and lets Ragnell loose to graze the courtyard while he waits.

And waits…

And waits…

There’s a small crack between the doors. If Ike leans back just a little, he can see inside. 

Maybe the Arcsage isn’t in? Or perhaps he’s sleeping? Or worse, what if he’s hurt? Or sick?

Maybe Ike should check on him…

Ike shakes his head. His father told him to wait, so he will wait. 

He’ll wait all night if he has to.

…

Another half hour has Ike on his feet and gingerly pushing one door open. He can almost feel Ragnell’s look of disapproval, but what does she know? She’s a horse. 

He ignores her, and slips quietly inside.

Deterioration is far more noticeable from inside the castle. Light peeks through cracks in the stone walls while some blocks are missing altogether. Vines weave in and out of them, twisting and curling their way through the ceiling, some tendrils hanging low like some sort of floral spider web.

Ike shudders at the passing thought of some enormous spider lingering amidst the hanging vines.

Apart from the overgrowth, the place looks utterly ransacked. Smashed furniture, pottery, and debris litter room. What were once fine tapestries now hang in tatters along the walls. Not even the paintings remained unscathed. Most frames are smashed along with everything else, but the few left hanging are full of long rips and tears.

Does the Arcsage really live here…?

He walks carefully through the entry hall. His footsteps are painfully loud and it makes him unusually nervous. Although he’s trained well in the art of combat, he still feels a bit like an easy target all alone in an empty space.

It doesn’t help that he feels watched.

He shakes it off and ventures deeper inside. 

Still no signs of life.

Well, unless he counts that enormous white bird perched on the bannister.

Ike freezes.

He turns his head slowly and makes eye contact with the bird.

The bird doesn’t move, but its unblinking stare is incredibly uncomfortable. _. _

There’s absolutely no reason for Ike to be so thrown off by a bird of all things, even if it is huge. It looks like a waterfowl in any case, like a heron or a crane - it’s definitely not a falcon or something aggressive. 

Absolutely nothing to be worried about.

But just to be safe, he begins to back away slowly. No sudden movements.

With seemingly no provocation, the bird’s wings fly open and it lets out a horrifically loud screech.

“No no no no no! Shhh! Good bird, good-” Ike frantically whispers in a futile effort to quiet it - although he’s not quite sure why. He’s fairly certain there’s no one else here.

The bird ignores his pleas and dives for him in one elegant swoop that Ike barely dodges, but he still trips over an old broken chair and falls flat on his back.

“Ow!” Ike hisses, rubbing the back of his head where it smacked against an old block of wood, “Damnit… that hurt.”

He props himself up on his elbows and throws a nasty look towards where the bird was.

...Only, it isn’t there anymore.

“What are you doing here?” A voice low and smooth, oozing with rage hits Ike like a block of ice. 

His head whips around to find the source and for a moment, Ike is speechless.

The figure looming by his feet is wrapped in a dark cloak. A high collar hides half his face, and an oversized hood casts a heavy shadow over the rest. Apart from the few glints of some metal buckles, the only thing Ike can see is his eyes.

They bore into him, bright, burning red, glowing of their own accord, pupils slit like a lizard’s and narrowed in a threatening glare.

“Arcsage…” Ike whispers as the realization dawns on him, “Are you... the Arcsage?”

But of course it is, who else would it be?

Those intense red eyes narrow further.

“What,” The Arcsage hisses with forceful venom, “Are you  _ doing _ here?”

“I-I,” Ike clears his throat and musters up as much dignity as he can from his seat on the floor, “My name is Ike. I’m the Liason for-”

“Get out,” The Arcsage turns to walk away.

“Huh?” Ike blinks and pushes himself up onto his feet, “But I-”

“ _ Get… out…! _ ” The Arcsage roars. He swings his arm back, fingertips aflame with a ghastly green light.

The ground rumbles.

Ike scrambles backwards just before an enormous vine bursts through the floor where he had just been, hurtling upwards to the ceiling. 

“Holy-” Ike says under his breath. The vine twists in time with the Arcsage’s wrist and shoots towards him at startling speed. Ike lunges to the side as the vine crashes into the floor behind him.

Ike no longer wonders why the inside of the castle is crumbling.

“I said,  _ get… out…! _ ” The Arcsage raises both hands to his shoulders in the same way a puppeteer would man a marionette. Two more vines burst forth from the floor behind him. He thrusts his hands towards Ike and the vines follow suit. There’s no room to dodge so Ike grabs the hilt of his sword and cuts through both of them with one sweeping cut.

The vines vanish into some sort of ghostly ash, and the Arcsage narrows his stare.

“There,” Ike says with a grunt, “Now if you would just list-”

A subtle twist of the wrist and Ike is immediately swept upsidedown, hanging from the first vine that had coiled around his ankle.

“Put me down!” He demands, flailing helplessly in midair.

The Arcsage rolls his scarlet eyes.

“Gladly,” He pulls back his arm as if to throw a stone, and suddenly Ike is lurching backwards then hurling forwards through the open front doors and into the dirt outside.

He pounds his chest and coughs, trying to get back the wind that was knocked out of him, but before he does the doors slam shut behind him.

“Hey!” Ike tries to shout between coughs, “Hey! What the hell!?”

He receives no answer, just a questioning look from Ragnell with her mouth full of grass.

“Damnit,” Ike lets out a deep sigh and falls back onto the dirt. Surly that could have gone better. But what on earth had gotten the Arcsage so irritated? Had he offended him by entering the castle? Did he say something wrong? Was there some sort of protocol he was supposed to follow?

If his father hadn’t mentioned it, Ike could safely rule out the protocol issue, but he did disregard his initial instructions by entering without an invitation.. Then again, his straightforward nature meant he often spoke without any sense of diplomacy so offending the Arcsage with words seems equally likely. 

But Ike had barely said anything at all - he’d barely introduced himself before the Arcsage attacked him.

Ike bolts upright.

His father had said quite clearly, “keep him safe,” which implied that the Arcsage was often the target of… who knows what or who. Maybe he mistook Ike for a bandit or… someone hostile.

Surely if he introduced himself properly the Arcsage wouldn’t be so… jumpy.

He brushes the dirt from his clothes and takes a good look around. The Arcsage had probably locked the front doors by now, and they were far too large and heavy for Ike to consider breaking them down himself. So he would need an…  _ alternative _ route back inside.

An old metal vine-riddled trellis leading to one of the upper balconies should do the trick. How convenient for there to be one so close to the front entrance.

He rustles through Ragnell’s saddlebags and pulls out the wooden box containing the sunflower they had collected earlier that morning and tucks it safely into the pouch on his belt. He gives her a quick pat on the neck then begins his uncoordinated climb up the rusty trellis.

“Predictable as usual.” 

Ike barely has time to register the voice before he’s once again hung upside down by his ankles and brought face to face with an unamused Arcsage.

Ike frantically scrambles with his pouch as the Arcsage raises his fingers and the vines begin to sway dangerously.

“Wait, wait!” Ike says. To his surprise, the Arcsage complies, but he does not lower his fingers. It feels like an hour before he finally procures the small box and holds it out for the Arcsage to take.

The Arcsage stares at it for a while, then looks back to Ike and says nothing.

“Flowers,” Ike curses at his lack of articulation, “Flowers, I… brought flowers.” 

For a long moment, nothing happens. The Arcsage stares as if conflicted, but finally lets out a rather tired breath. With an offhanded wave, the vine effortlessly flips Ike around and sets him down on the balcony.

“Let’s see it,” The Arcsage says reluctantly. Ike offers him the box.

Ike doesn’t miss the subtle flinch when the Arcsage snatches it from his hand and brushes his fingertips.

“Time of death?” He asks surveying the box’s contents like one would a recipe book.

“Uh… before dawn… I think,” Ike says carefully. 

The Arcsage hums, but says nothing else. 

It’s fascinating how much less intimidating and just how… small, the Arcsage looks in the daylight. Judging from the tenor of his voice, his size, and from what little Ike can see of his face, the Arcsage is fairly young - perhaps even close to Ike’s age. He’s nothing like the hunchbacked, wrinkly old scholar Ike had envisioned.

But if the Arcsage is so young, why or how did he end up here of all places? Studying a parasitic epidemic alone in a quarantined country hardly seemed like the sort of work for a man who should by all rights be a student of magic, rather than a master. 

And what of his family?

“I can have the medicine ready in three days,” The Arcsage says, snapping the box shut and tucking it into his robe, “But understand  _ this,” _ He leans down and narrows his eyes, “You are  _ never _ to set foot inside this place without my express permission.”

“But-,” Ike protests.

“You are to wait by the front entrance and  _ ring the bell _ if you have a message to relay. Otherwise, leave the goods outside the door. If I have anything to pass on to you, I will do the same. Are we clear?”

A million questions race through Ike’s mind but he knows better than to voice them. Everyone he knows and loves relies on the treatments and medicines only this man can provide. For their sake, Ike has to win the Arcsage’s trust, and that takes priority over his curiosity and his wounded pride.

But the whole thing still kind of pisses him off.

“You know, it’s gonna be really hard to do my job if I can’t even talk to you,” He says with thinly veiled bitterness. The Arcsage’s eyes widen slightly. His commanding presence shrinks and Ike can’t help but notice once again just how small he looks.

“...I don’t know what you’ve been told,” Is Ike imagining the slight tremor in the Arcsage’s voice? “But your so-called  _ job _ is to deliver goods and patients to and from this castle and nothing else,” His voice grows quiet, “You don’t need to speak with me in order to do that.”

“I was told to keep you safe,” Ike says.

“I’m not so weak as to require a babysitter,” The Arcsage spits, “Especially not one as young as you.”

“I never called you weak, I only…” Ike takes a deep breath to gather his thoughts, “You’re important. To me. To this country. So just-”

“I told you to stay out of this castle,” He snarls. Whatever vulnerability he had shown vanishes in an instant, “Guard the gates if you must, but I will not entertain your… whatever this is, by allowing you into my space,” He flicks his wrist and Ike’s world turns on its head once more as a vine curls around his legs and hoists him over the balcony rail. 

It lowers him back to ground level before vanishing into thin air.

At least he wasn’t thrown this time. 

Ike stares up at the balcony where he can still just barely make out the top of the Arcsage’s dark hood.

“I’ll be back tomorrow!” He shouts.

He doesn’t receive a reply.

\-----

True to his word, Ike returns the next day, and the day after that, and of course on the third day to exchange the crate of finished medicine for another crate of general foodstuffs from Nevassa. 

He doesn’t enter the castle as requested, but the Arcsage never forbade him from wandering around the grounds. While the courtyard entrance feels like the remnants of a ghost story, it’s the only part of the grounds that does.

The rest of the grounds are stunning. Passing through the overgrowth of the courtyard entrance leads to a wide open field filled with wildflowers and lined with unruly hedges. Ike suspects it was once one of those well manicured lawns used for playing noble games like… croquet or something equally stupid. 

He likes the flowers better. 

Beyond the flower fields is an enormous pond - or maybe it’s a lake - decorated with a single Gazebo on an artificial island a little ways out at the end of a thin, decorative footbridge. It wraps around the field through a heavily wooded area where it bleeds into a river that Ike has yet to follow.

But Ike’s favorite discovery by far are the greenhouses. There are three at the back of the castle, shockingly well kept and full of plants and flowers Ike has never seen before. The plants have been treated with the utmost care, and the only person who could have done so is the Arcsage himself. 

It’s fitting that one so hermit-like is good at gardening.

He half expected the Arcsage to outright avoid him, but somehow Ike manages to catch a glimpse of him every time he turns around. At first he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him, but it soon becomes apparent that the Arcsage is following him - or at least carefully watching him from a safe distance.

It’s strange. The Arcsage had been so hostile in their first encounter, and yet… Ike can’t help but wonder if that hostility came from a place of fear instead of a true desire for isolation. He had initially suspected that he had offended the Arcsage or that the Arcsage had a grudge against people… but that seems less and less likely. If he truly hated people, he wouldn’t be so open to helping them fight the Hanahaki. 

A fearful Arcsage would be rather convenient for Ike as well. If he truly was just scared, then all Ike has to do is prove to him that he’s nothing to be afraid of.

Which is easier said than done.

But that doesn’t stop him from smiling and waving at the Arcsage from a distance whenever he knows he’s watching.

The Arcsage doesn’t wave back but he doesn’t immediately try to hide from him either.

It’s a start.

\-----

“How long has he been like this?” Ike asks his father quietly. Greil shrugs.

“A month, maybe. Just petals for a while, but this morning he coughed up a small bud,” He scratches his chin, “Mist is trying to figure out exactly how far along he is.”

From the other side of the examination room, Ike’s sister, Mist, smiles cheerfully at her patient. He’s young, maybe twelve, and shaking like a leaf. It’s not a symptom of the Hanahaki, but a psychological response to coughing up bloody flower petals every day. It’s enough to frighten even the bravest of men, let alone a child.

“If you could just open wide for me please - and… ah, thank you!” Mist quips. She angles a small mirror to reflect light from a nearby oil lamp down his throat, “And hold still for me please… good. Perfect.”

“I suppose I should take him to see the Arcsage soon,” It’s an unfortunate situation, but Ike can’t deny that the prospect of delivering his first patient is exciting.

“Yes, but the timing is important,” Greil pinches the bridge of his nose, “The Arcsage just had a patient a little over a week ago. I’m not sure he can take another one this soon.”

“...What do you mean?” Ike’s brow furrows. 

Greil frowns at him and grunts.

“What do you mean, what do I me- oh, right. You wouldn’t know,” Greil places a hand on Ike’s back and guides him out the front door, away from prying ears, and shuts it quietly behind them.

“Wouldn’t know what?” Ike asks.

Greil crosses his arms and hums in thought.

“The Hanahaki isn’t… like a normal disease. People don’t just cough up flowers, you know?” He says, “So, if it’s not a normal disease then it can’t take a normal treatment.”

Ike blinks dumbly.

“Which… means what, exactly?” 

“It means,” Greil stresses, “That the treatments use magic. Powerful magic.”

“Oh,” Ike catches himself staring off in the direction of the castle, “Well, yeah. That makes sense… but why the timing thing…?”

“Powerful magic drains the castor. A single treatment takes a big toll on the Arcsage’s body, and he needs time to recover in between cases,” Greil grunts, “That’s why he started making those medicines from the Blossoms. It slows down the Hanahaki’s growth long enough so he can properly recover between treatments, otherwise… even he would be powerless to prevent a Blossoming.”

The breeze that ruffles his hair carries a faint floral note.

“How long does he usually need?” Ike asks after a long somber silence.

“Two or three days, usually,” Greil peers into the front window to check on Mist’s progress, “But he’s been needing more time lately… Last time he needed more than a week. I’m not sure if we can send the kid to him just yet. I’m… worried.”

As if on cue, the door opens and Mist walks through with a quiet sigh.

“How is he?” Ike asks her.

“Not good,” She shakes her head, “Symptoms started two weeks ago and somehow he’s already budding. Even with the medicine slowing things down, we won’t have much time.”

“How much time is that?” Greil’s voice is low.

“Two days? Maybe three. It’s growing too quickly for me to say for sure,” Her voice cracks a little as she rubs her upper arms, “The sooner we can get him to see the Arcsage, the better.”

“Right,” Greil says, re-opening the front door and ushering them through it, “I’ll take care of the arrangements. Ike, you-”

The boy doubles over, and begins to cough.

Horrible, wet, retching coughs in between sharp pleas for air - his entire body jerks and shakes as the trembling sets in. Mist is beside him in an instant, syringe in hand. 

“Ike, hold him still!” She orders, and Ike wastes no time. He grabs a rag and holds it over the boy’s mouth, locking him in place with a tight hold with his free arm. It doesn’t still him completely, but it steadies him enough for Mist to jab the needle in his neck.

Ike releases his hold and the boy folds for a few final deep coughs. He gags, almost chokes, then vomits a long stem of budding lilacs in a pool of bile and blood.

Mist, still shaking from adrenaline, helps the boy sit back up and lays him down on the bed. The look she gives her brother and father is stern and fearful, and although she doesn’t say anything, Greil nods.

“Get the cart, Ike,” He says, “And get him to the Arcsage. Immediately.”

Ike sprints out of the building like it’s on fire.

\-----

The sun is low in the sky by the time Ike’s fetched the wagon and set off for the castle. Even with the Arcsage’s medicinal injection, the boy continues to cough periodically from his seat in the covered wagon.

It’s worrying.

There’s no real timeline for the Hanahaki. Sometimes it hits hard and fast, blooming within a matter of weeks, and other times it can be years between the initial petal and the first bud. As far as anyone can tell, age, sex, profession, or even exposure to other Hanahaki carriers seems to alter the way the disease spreads. Some claim that it’s the type of flower that determines how quickly someone Blossoms, but Ike’s seen people take vastly different periods of time before Blossoming even when they have the same flower.

This boy is just unlucky. That’s all it boils down to.

The setting sun bathes the forest in gold just as Ragnell slows her pace at the edge of the rusted castle gates. Ike wastes no time dismounting and scrambling to ring the bell by the doorway in the most obnoxious way possible. He doesn’t know any other way to get the Arcsage’s attention.

“Cut it  _ out! _ ” The Arcsage shouts at him from the upper balcony. Ike lets out a sigh of relief at the sight of him, red eyes flashing behind swaths of black cloth, a stark contrast to that enormous white heron beside him.

“I’m sorry,” Ike says hurriedly, “But I’ve got a boy who’s Blossoming, and we need your help!”

The Arcsage’s shoulders drop and he shares a look with the giant bird beside him. A quick flick of the wrist, and a large vine lifts him up over the bannister and gently lowers him to the ground. The heron glides down behind him and perches on the castle steps instead.

“How long?” The Arcsage asks as he reaches to pull himself into the wagon.

“A month we think. But your medicine doesn’t seem to be slowing it down,” Ike helps the Arcsage into the wagon, “I can carry him if you wa-”

“That won’t be necessary,” He says hastily before turning his attention to the frightened boy, “Relax. You’re going to be just fine,” He waves his hand in front of the boy’s face just as he begins another coughing fit. His eyelids flutter, and his body slumps against the Arcsage who lays him down on the floor of the wagon, “A moment of privacy, if you would.”

Ike turns away and leans against the covered wagon. His foot taps the dirt nervously while the heron watches him without blinking.

He doesn’t like being useless. Standing around waiting doesn’t suit him, but what can he do? He doesn’t know any magic, and he certainly doesn’t understand medicine. He can stitch sutures and set a broken bone, but that’s about it. As much as waiting makes him antsy, it’s really all he can do.

The dirt by his feet flash a pale purple. Ike whips around to see the covered wagon lit with a soft violet glow. He can make out the Arcsage’s silhouette just barely although he can’t really make out what he’s doing besides hunching over. 

How does he remove a magic blossom from someone anyway? Certainly not through any surgical procedure…

The light flickers and fades and Ike blinks to allow his eyes to adjust to the red of the sunset instead. The heron walks over and stands quietly beside him. They both watch the wagon and wait.

They don’t have to wait long before the Arcsage climbs out the back. His posture is slack and a little bowed.

“Th… that was fast,” Ike says and immediately bites his lip at how stupid he thinks he sounds.

“It’s a fast procedure,” The Arcsage says, “Exhausting, but simple.”

He takes a step then immediately steadies himself against the side of the wagon. Ike reaches towards him and offers his hand.

“Is everything ok?” Ike asks with a little hesitation and a lot of worry, “You don’t look so good…”

The Arcsage glances up at him with glazed eyes and waves a hand in dismissal.

“I’m fine… just a little… tired,” He slurs, “You can take him home now.”

Ike stares at him for a moment. While concealed from head to toe in cloth and robes, there’s just something… deeply concerning about his poor posture and sluggish movements. The sage he knows is quick and sharp like a finely honed blade. The man before him however, is more like a hollow glass club - slow and likely to break after a single swing.

The Arcsage straightens his posture and regains his balance, striding forward with a sort of false confidence.

But he doesn’t get far.

Three steps as him stumbling, one hand covering his mouth as if to vomit. Ike reaches to catch him but someone else gets there first.

A blinding swirl of light swoops around the giant heron just as the sun dips out of sight and in its place stands the most beautiful man.

He’s taller than Ike, pale skin with long golden hair falling down his back like a fine silk cape. His features are sharp, his gold eyes unflinching and focused on the Arcsage leaning against his chest. Despite his apparent frailty, he manages to steady the Arcsage and allows him to lean against him before finally turning his attention back to Ike.

“You don’t have to worry,” The man says with a buttery smooth voice, deceptively low in pitch, “This happens every time. I’ll look after him.”

Ike’s mouth opens and closes several times.

“You’re not a bird,” He says blankly.

The man’s stern face stretches into a smile as he laughs.

“Not all the time, no,” He says with a coy smirk, “You should get going. Your beloved sage here will be just fine with some rest.”

Ike snaps out of his stupor with a quick shake of his head.

“Right!” He coughs, “Right, uh. I’ll just… be going then…” He glances back to the Arcsage twice during his attempt at mounting Ragnell and pretends not to notice the curious raised eyebrow on the bird man.

He does, however, notice the Arcsage tug at man’s robes and whisper something that makes him smirk.

“Just a moment, Ike,” He says. Ike doesn’t remember giving the man his name, but he’s remiss to question anything at this point.

He’s still wrapping his head around the whole bird-man thing.

The man leans down as if to whisper something back to the Arcsage and suddenly, Ike’s heart is struck by a quiet but startlingly beautiful melody. 

The man continues to sing softly to the Arcsage. Every note seems to ease the tension in his shoulders and steady his legs. Without pausing, the blonde man guides the Arcsage towards Ragnell, one arm around his waist, and the other propping him up by the chest.

Ike stares down curiously at the both of them.

Before he can ask any questions, the Arcsage lifts his hand and the blonde man stops singing. His gloved fingertips glow with a soft golden hue.

Ike watches in awe as the Arcsage reaches out with a single finger and lightly touches Ragnell on the hindquarters.

Light spreads from the spot the Arcsage touched, bathing her in a faint golden glow. She whinnies and snorts in a delighted fashion, pawing the ground once for good measure and tossing her shimmering mane.

“It’s dangerous to travel in the dark,” The blonde man says with a smile, “You should be able to see the path now.”

Ike catches a glimpse of the Arcsage’s red eyes staring at him from beneath heavy lids.

He smiles.

“Thank you,” He says earnestly.

The Arcsage says nothing, and shoos him away with a wave of his clothed hand.

\-----

It’s still dark out when Ike gets back to town.

The flames of the streetlights are lit, the streets are empty save for a few stragglers, drunks, and guards. If they notice anything odd about Ragnell, they don’t mention it.

Just in case, Ike makes sure to drive his cart as close to their light as possible. He doesn’t want anyone to see his horse… glowing.

Horses aren’t supposed to do that.

Fortunately the trip to his family’s shop - if you can call a mercenary headquarters that - is short and Ragnell’s glow begins to dim as he draws closer. 

The lights are on, but despite the night’s chill, there are two men anxiously pacing outside his front door. They stop when they notice him, the wider of the two almost bouncing on their heels when they catch sight of Ike.

By the time Ike dismounts, they’re already by his side.

“How is he?” The larger man asks. Ike smiles and puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“He’s fine, Boyd. Just sleeping,” He says. 

Boyd immediately crumbles to his knees, palms pressed against his eyes.

“Oh, thank the  _ goddess _ ,” He chokes out. The man beside him leans down to pat him on the back.

“Can we see him?” He asks tentatively.

“Yeah, but let me wake him up first. C’mon,” Ike walks around the wagon then pauses, realizing that neither man is following him. He peeks out from the side and tilts his head, “Oscar? You comin’?”

Oscar swallows. Even backlit by streetlights, Ike can tell that he’s trembling.

“You ok…?” He asks.

Oscar looks away.

“...What if he doesn’t remember us?” Oscar’s voice, usually so steady and unshakable, cracks. This time it’s Boyd who stands and rubs his back.

“...Then you make new memories,” Ike says, “He might forget you, or me, or Mist… but he’s alive right now, and that’s what matters… right?”

Boyd and Oscar share a look, then a deep breath, then a nod. 

They’re stronger than most, Ike has to admit. It may be the first time he’s transported a Hanahaki patient to the Arcsage, but he’s watched every single patient as they reunite with their family. Most break down into tears, screaming and crying, wailing at the thought of their loved one forgetting them.

It’s rarely a quiet affair.

Absently, he wonders what the previous liaisons thought of the reunions. How did they handle the grief stricken families?

...Actually… who exactly  _ was _ the last Liaison? Ike can’t seem to recall…

He makes a mental note to ask his father later.

“Hey…” Ike gently prods the boy awake, “Rolf? Hey, it’s time to get up.”

Rolf groans, blinking into the darkness.

“...Ike?” He says bearily.

“Yeah,” Ike smiles at him, “How ya feeling?”

“...Groggy…” Rolf sits up and rubs his eyes, “Are we back? Did I… Am I ok now…?”

“Yeah, you’re ok now. All cured,” Ike ruffles his hair like he used to when Rolf’s age was only in the single digits, “Your brothers are here to pick you up,” He gestures to Boyd and Oscar behind him.

Rolf stares at them for a moment.

A very,  _ very _ long moment.

Then he looks back at Ike.

“...Who?”

Ike can almost hear the sound of Oscar and Boyd’s hearts shattering.

\-----

It never gets easier.

The looks on the faces of those who were forgotten - the look of confusion and fear on the faces of those who forget. Ike can only imagine what it’s like to wake up one day and realize that someone who knows you so frighteningly well… is an absolute stranger.

How many wives have forgotten their husbands? How many children have forgotten their parents?

Ike’s lost count.

The faces haunt him; leave him tossing and turning at night dreading the moment when it will be his turn to forget.

Who will it be? His father? Mother? Sister? What if he finds  _ the one _ and the Hanahaki rips their face from his mind?

It’s too terrible to think about.

So he doesn’t. He quickly gives up on sleep, dresses, and takes Ragnell out for a ride.

He has no particular destination in mind, so he lets Ragnell choose his path. She’d much rather graze and stops frequently to do so before Ike reminds her to keep moving. 

Ike both is and isn’t surprised when they arrive at the Arcsage’s castle. It wasn’t what he had in mind - although he hadn’t had much in mind to begin with - but it’s a good option. That large wild flower field would make an excellent place for a nap. The fact that he can check on the Arcsage after he’s done is a bonus.

He lets Ragnell loose when he sees the lake and she whinnies and trots over to an open area full of sweet clover and grass. 

Ike basks in the morning sun and breaths deep. Maybe if it’s warmer when he wakes up, he can go for a swim. 

Something black catches his eye near the old bridge leading out to the island gazebo at the edge of the lake. He squints at it, eyes adjusting to the brightness of the open field then smiles. He hadn’t expected to see the Arcsage out here.

“Good morning,” Ike says. The Arcsage visible startles. Clearly he hadn’t noticed Ike’s approach, if that accusatory glare was anything to go by.

“What are  _ you _ doing here?” He grumbles, pulling his book a little closer as if to deter Ike from taking it. For once the Arcsage isn’t wearing his gloves, but all Ike can see are exceedingly pale fingers barely peeking out from the ends of long sleeves with jet black nails neatly filed. 

“I could ask the same of you,” Ike peels his eyes away from the Arcsage’s uncovered hands, and takes a seat on the grass. 

“I live here,” The Arcsage closes his book with a muffled snap.

“Well I know that,” Ike snorts, “But you didn’t look so good last night. I thought you might still be sleeping.”

The Arcsage clicks his tongue, opens his book and proceeds to say nothing.

It’s rude, certainly, but Ike’s a bit too sleep deprived to care. With a big yawn, he falls back onto the grass and lets the sweet floral breeze lull him into a blissful state of unconsciousness.

...Or at least, that was the plan.

“What,” The Arcsage asks, “Are you doing?”

“What’s it look like? I’m taking a nap,” Ike smirks, eyes still closed.

“...Here?” 

“Looks like it, yeah,” Ike cracks open one eye to see what kind of expression the Arcsage is making - though it’s difficult to see much at all when the only part of the face visible is a pair of pretty red eyes.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” His tone is a bit exasperated.

“Not today,” Ike yawns, “Don’t worry, I’m tired. I won’t bother you.”

“Your presence is bothering me already,” The Arcsage grumbles. 

“Then go inside.”

“I was here first.”

“Then stay.”

“You’re  _ distracting me. _ ”

Ike props himself up on his elbows to fix his companion with a  _ look _ .

“What exactly am I distracting you from?” He asks, “Novels don’t take that much concentration.”

“It’s not a novel,” The Arcsage says quietly. 

“Then what is it?” Ike asks.

“I have no reason to tell you,” The Arcsage huffs indignantly.

“Then tell me something else,” Ike insists, “Talk to me, maybe.”

“No.”

“Why not?” Ike pushes himself so he’s properly seated, “If I’m already distracting you, then we may as well have a conversation.”

“I’d rather not,” The Arcsage clicks his tongue like the thought disgusts him.

Ike is exasperated. 

The Arcsage won’t meet or talk with Ike willingly, refuses to show himself to the village, and won’t even answer Ike’s questions and Ike is supposed to be the most trustworthy person in the village - heck, even the entire kingdom. That’s why he was chosen for such an important job, after all. Treating the Hanahaki patients is just as much his responsibility as it is the Arcsage’s. 

The Arcsage  _ has  _ to understand that.

So why is he being so… so…  _ difficult? _

Ike furiously ruffles his own hair in frustration.

“Tell me, were you this difficult with your last Liaison? Or do you just hate me?” He blurts out without thinking.

He expected a swift reply, a nasty quip or insult thrown his way but instead he gets…

Nothing.

Just a pair of wide red eyes staring at him like a child slapped by their parent. They barely managed to hold Ike’s confused gaze, ducking behind the Arcsage’s hood a little too quickly. 

“...I don’t hate you,” He finally says, voice almost as quiet as the gentle breeze around them, “But I don’t want you around, either.”

Ike opens his mouth to retort but someone else beats him to it.

“Come now Young Master Soren, is that any way to treat a guest?!” It’s a man’s voice, teasing the Arcsage as though he were nothing more than a small child.

“ _ Stefan! _ ” The Arcsage hisses, head whipping around to glare in the direction of the voice. 

Ike lets out a small laugh.

“ _ Young Master Soren? _ ” Ike says with a smirk, too amused at first to realize how important a piece of information he’d been given. He rolls the title around in his mind until just one word remains, “Soren…” He repeats slowly, “Is that your name?”

Ike absently notes the large heron landing gracefully beside the Arcsage - no, not the Arcsage… Soren.

If Soren’s face were not hidden behind a scarf and hood, Ike would have assumed him to be blushing with how flustered his hands seem to be.

“Apologies, Master Ike,” Stefan says, “It appears the Young Master has neglected to properly introduce himself. Allow me to-”

“One more word and I’ll melt you down for scrap,” Soren snarls.

Ike stifles a laugh and turns to look at Stefan.

Only… there’s no one there.

He blinks and looks around, but sure enough, there’s no one there. There’s only a small ornate dining trolly carrying a full spread of pastries, fruit, flowers and tea. The only thing out of place is a candelabra decorated in small, creeping gold roses, dramatically swooning atop the cart.

….Swooning?

“Oh Soren, you wound me!” The candelabra says, “Certainly you would never attempt to harm your dear-”

“Just try me,” Soren grumbles back.

Ike’s jaw goes slack watching Soren argue with a very animated candelabra. It’s bizarre. Surreal… and yet… somehow in the context of everything odd surrounding the Arcsage - perhaps it’s not strange at all.

But that thought doesn’t make him feel any less weird when the candelabra - or rather, Stefan - turns to Ike and smiles.

“Will you be staying for breakfast, Master Ike?” Stefan asks.

Still not quite used to being spoken to by a… candle stick, Ike somehow manages to nod.

“That won’t be necessary. He was just leaving,” Soren’s words come out a bit rushed.

“Oh Soren, don’t be so rude!” It’s a new voice this time, female and coming from the steaming teapot ornately painted with orchids and lilies, “I think a picnic in the garden sounds like a lovely idea! Don’t you agree, Sothe?”

“Leave me out of this, Micaiah,” A young man’s voice comes from a chipped sugar bowl with peonies dappling its sides, “If Soren wants to eat by himself, then I say let him.”

“Nonsense! A garden picnic is a perfect way to spend the morning!” Stefan grins and claps his hands - well, candle-stubs - together. In an instant two white garden chairs and a matching table race towards them - or perhaps running would be a better term…

Before Soren can protest again, the chairs have lifted him and Ike up off the ground and tucked them neatly against the garden table. Micaiah, Sothe and Stefan bounce off the dining cart and onto the table, quickly followed by a half a dozen teacups, saucers, plates, silverware, napkins, dessert trays and more, each autonomously flitting and floating to their appointed position on the table until the entire thing is perfectly set.

Stefan begins to issue some instructions to the… dishes.

Ike manages to catch Soren’s eye.

“...Does all your uh… furniture…? Talk?” He asks. Soren snorts.

“Only the annoying ones,” He says, earning a small laugh from Ike. Micaiah hums a cute little tune while she fills Soren’s teacup with her spout. Sothe somehow manages to lift and carry croissants from the pastry stand to their plates by bending the handles on either side of his… body.

Ike’s pretty sure ceramics don’t work like that, but what does he know about enchanted sugar bowls?

Not much.

He tries to stifle a yawn but can’t seem to manage it. He’s warm and surrounded by the scent of flowers and bread and the sounds of the wind over the water.

“Hmm…” Micaiah hums thoughtfully, “Perhaps you’d like some coffee instead of tea?” She offers. Ike nods a bit absently, then jumps at the absurdly loud squawk from beside him.

“Oh, sorry Master Reyson,” Stefan has his candle stubs pressed against what should be his chest, “I thought you were taking your meal in the castle. I suppose we’ll go fetch that as well…”

The heron, now known as Reyson, bobs his head slightly as if to say, “you’d better,” then nestles into a particularly plush mound of grasses nearby. Stefan laughs and ushers Micaiah and Sothe back onto the cart.

“Now you kids play nice!” He shouts as the cart zips away towards the back of the castle.

Ike opens his mouth to comment but finds speechless instead at the sight of Soren carefully tugging his hood to further shade his face as he unhooks his robe’s heightened collar and drapes it over his shoulder.

He tries for a closer look, just a glimpse of the Arcsage’s face, but it’s no use. The sun is fairly bright and his face is hidden in stark shadow. But even with such poor visibility Ike can make out pale, pale lips pursed, gently blowing the steam from his tea. 

He clears his throat.

“I’m surprised you’re still here,” He tears off a piece of his croissant and chews it slowly. He’s only had them maybe twice before and still thinks they’re mostly air and no substance.

Soren glances up at him, expression unreadable.

“They’d only nag me if I left,” He takes a long sip of his tea but doesn’t lower the cup when he swallows.

“Ah, so my company is just slightly preferable to being nagged by your… staff,” Ike chides.

“That’s not what I said,” Soren’s eyes are fixed on his teacup. It’s a shame because that’s really all Ike can see of his face.

“Ok, then…” Ike leans back in his chair, “If you don’t hate me, and you don’t hate my company, then why not get to know me?”

Soren stills.

He lowers the cup just enough for Ike to make out his lips pressed together in a thin line.

“...I know you well enough.” He says quietly.

“And yet I don’t know you at all,” Ike retorts, “...But that’s just it, isn’t it? You don’t want me to know anything about you, do you?”

“...That would be best, yes,” 

“But why?” Ike says a little too loudly, “I’m your  _ liaison. _ I’m literally the most trustworthy person in the entire kingdom, and the only person who connects you to… to everywhere else.”

Soren’s voice goes even quieter.

“I know,” He says.

“Then-”

“Ike,  _ please, _ ” Soren’s voice reverberates with an unusual sense of vulnerability that Ike’s protest dies in his throat.

Somehow, he manages to form a question instead.

“...What happened to the liaison before me?” He swallows his frustration, keeping his tone even and calm, “Were you like this with them too?”

Soren is silent, setting his teacup down and finally lifting his face to look at Ike properly. He’s still hidden in the shadow of his hood, but the edges of his face are visible, the color of his skin ghostly pale, and his red eyes shine in the dark like small candles.

“I’ll talk,” Soren’s words are careful, measured, “But in exchange you can’t ask me anything about… your predecessors.”

Ike blinks.

“That’s all you want…?” He’s a bit baffled at the sudden change in tone.

“Don’t misunderstand, I still have no intention of becoming your…  _ friend _ ,” Soren snips, “But I can at least be… civil… if that’s what you want.”

He lifts the teacup to his lips and drinks deeply, face half-hidden by his hood. 

Ike picks at his half-eaten croissant. It’s an odd condition and an even odder concession. He’s not quite sure what to make of it. His intention had only been to get Soren to talk to him like any normal person, to learn a bit about the man solely responsible for the survival of his homeland. 

The concession should make him happy. It does make his initial objective easier, but the more he learns the more he realizes that nothing is simple with the Arcsage. It’s almost like Soren’s willingness to comply with Ike’s demand for basic conversation is a clever means to deny him access to what he really wants to know.

And yet, it’s a start. A chance.

Maybe if he gives it some time and patience, Soren will open up to him. Maybe they can become friends. Ike doesn’t have many of those, and they do seem to be about the same age.

Is that what he wants? To be friends with the Arcsage?

Or friends with Soren?

Or maybe he’s just curious about the motivations of a young magician living in a kingdom under quarantine with a castle full of talking furniture.

Ike smiles broadly and holds his hand out for Soren to take.

“Then I look forward to being… civil with you… Soren,” He waits, hand hovering over the middle of the table.

Soren hesitates, but eventually reaches out with tentative fingers to shake Ike’s hand.

Ike doesn’t miss the small tilt of a smile cloaked in the shadow of Soren’s hood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not exactly what I had in mind, but then again in my outline I just went from-  
> delivery of medicine > chapter 3
> 
> ....I added a lot of scenes.


	3. Sprouts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I took quite the long break, huh? It was kind of needed, tbh. Ended up writing the chapter over the course of the last two weeks, and I'm kind of glad I took that rest because it helped me work through a lot of the intricacies of the plot that I hadn't completely resolved (or needed to be changed). 
> 
> It's not... completely how I wanted it, but when is a chapter ever the way I want it? lol. 10,000+ words later, here we are, and I hope you guys think it was worth the wait.

There’s no bigger draw for a Navassan crowd than the day after a merchant ship docks at port. Foreign trade came to a halt almost immediately after the war, most merchants fearing that they may catch the novel Hanahaki disease merely by setting foot on Daein soil. Those brave enough to dock in Daein ports were always met with an enthusiastic and lucrative market starved for foreign goods.

Ike has never been fond of shopping, but Mist drags him to the square whenever a merchant ship docks without fail. He’s barely more than a glorified pack mule, loaded up with bags and the occasional crate. While the shopping itself is tolerable at best, he has to admit he enjoys the outings, if only to relish the brief shift in mood market day brings for the rest of the townsfolk. 

Mist peruses a small stand selling fruits and nuts while Ike stands quietly behind her holding a lone leather satchel full of cloth, lard, and bundles of dried herbs from some far off southern continent. She’s chatting excitedly with the merchant there, a round, ruddy sort of man with mutton chops and a boisterous laugh.

Ike is growing impatient.

It’s nearly noon and he knows her list is twice as long as the amount of items he’s carrying, and before he got roped into shopping, he had been planning to spend most of the day with the Arcsage.

...With Soren, rather.

Though there’s not much room for him to complain. There’s nothing he  _ has _ to do at the castle, and it’s not as though Soren has requested his presence - Ike’s not sure he ever will - and there are things Ike should be helping with around town, as his father keeps reminding him… but this whole…  _ friendship  _ thing with the Arcsage is still very new, and Ike is very eager to make use of his new status.

Sure, he saw Soren the previous night, but that was only while delivering another patient for treatment so it’s not as though they had the chance to talk casually. Besides that, Ike’s more than a little concerned over how easily Soren collapses dispensing treatment for each Hanahaki patient… and how little he knows about said treatment.

Soren still won’t let him watch.

Of course, Soren has Reyson to watch over him but Reyson is a bit of a weird case as far as Ike is concerned. Heron by day, human by night - not exactly the most reliable constitution for a caretaker. Although, perhaps he has some control over the form he takes, Ike’s not entirely sure. In fact, Ike’s not even certain Reyson is human. Soren has talking furniture, so for all Ike knows, Reyson could be an enchanted bird. 

It’s impossible to know for sure.

Ike steps out of the way of some hurried shoppers, placing a hand on Mist’s back for balance. The square is packed, Ike notes with a groan, and if they want any chance of finishing Mist’s shopping list, they need to start moving a little quicker.

“Aren’t you done yet?” Ike asks. Mist punches his shoulder without so much as looking at him.

“Ike, don’t be rude,” She shoos him away with her hand, “I’ll be done in a minute, just… go have a look around, or something.”

Ike rolls his eyes. Mist’s “minute” is more like an hour so he has plenty of time to do absolutely nothing. 

He wanders around the nearby stalls, trying to keep to the gaps in the crowd rather unsuccessfully. After a quarter hour of being jostled around by stray elbows and baskets, Ike’s about ready to hightail it out of the marketplace, shopping be damned. Mist can carry her own stuff for once...

“Oh! Hey! Tall guy with the big bag!” A perky female voice shouts across the way. Ike’s not sure why, but he looks in her direction and she grins at him, “Yeah you! Come over here!” Ike hesitates, but her stall isn’t crowded, and he’s got plenty of time to kill so he parts the sea of bodies and stumbles over to her stand.

She laughs as he nears her, red ponytail bobbing as she does so.

“I thought I recognized that grumpy face! It’s Ike, right?” She taps her chin thoughtfully with her index finger. Ike blinks, a little taken aback from having his name called by a stranger… only she looks quite familiar. 

It takes a beat too long, but he does manage to remember who she is.

“Oh, right. You’re… Anna? Right?” Ike says carefully just in case he’s wrong. His memory isn’t the most reliable, after all, “You were here a couple months ago, I think.”

“You got it, handsome!” She winks, pivoting on her heel to rummage through a crate behind her, “And I’ve got that thing you ordered! Just uh… let me find it… now… where  _ is _ it…?”

“Ordered?” Ike repeats, “I don’t remember ordering anything…” In fact, he’s fairly certain he never spoke directly with Anna. It was Mist who placed all the orders, “Are you sure it wasn’t my sister? Mist?”

Anna snaps up and fixes him with a stern glare.

“Now look here, buster. I never forget an order, or a customer!” She dives back into the crate, making muffled noises Ike can’t decipher before popping back out, a thick leather-bound book in hand, “Ah-ha! Found it!” She holds it out for him to see, proud as a cat with a freshly caught mouse, “One volume of Arcane Herbology and Alchemy, straight from Goldoa and in mint condition! This puppy wasn’t easy to get, let me tell ya!”

It’s a book. A nice book, but Ike doesn’t exactly read much - at least not the kind of reading that requires sitting down for extended periods of time in a language he can’t understand.

So why would Anna insist that he ordered this book?

“I don’t remember ordering this…” Ike tilts his head to the side. He can’t read the gold inscription on the cover, but he can tell it’s a book of magic. Anna must have misremembered, because even ignoring his disdain for reading, he has no magical ability to speak of. A cookbook would have made for a more believable order.

“You certainly did order this,” She huffs, tapping the cover to emphasize her words, “You said you wanted it for some mage friend of yours… although I can’t remember the occasion… And ok, you didn’t ask for this book  _ specifically, _ but you did ask for any book on medicinal herbs used in magic from Goldoa. I remember that part  _ very clearly _ .”

“A mage friend…” Ike says slowly, “How could that be?” The only mage Ike knows is Soren, and they only met a month prior. Perhaps someone else ordered it for Soren? Or maybe Ike had placed the order in place of the last Liaison… who he can’t seem to remember at all.

Anna’s mouth crinkles with impatience.

“Look, do you want it or not?” She asks, “Because I can always find another buyer-”

“No, I’ll take it,” Ike says quickly, surprising himself and Anna in the process.

“Great!” Anna’s grin splits her face in two as she counts the gold Ike places in her palm, “Thanks a bunch!” She chirps, practically gliding over to the next customer.

Ike runs his fingers over the smooth leather cover of the tome in his hands. It feels like an impulsive purchase but at the same time, it’s quite the convenient acquisition. Regardless of who ordered it or why, it seems the kind of thing Soren would like and a gift seems like a great excuse for Ike to pay him a visit. 

And maybe solidify this friendship thing he’s working on.

“There you are!” Mist calls from behind him, “You’re supposed to carry this, dummy. Here,” She lifts a canvas sack full of nuts and seeds into Ike’s obediently waiting arms. He balances the book on top, and Mist takes note, “...Did you buy a  _ book? _ ”

“Uh, yeah. Why?” He shifts the bags around for balance. She snickers at him.

“Let me guess - got a little present for your dear Arcsage?” She chirps with a knowing grin, skipping ahead of her brother.

“What’s  _ that _ supposed to mean?” Ike grunts, somehow getting swept along by the sea of market-goers while Mist expertly flits between them.

How does she  _ do _ that?

“Nothing!” Mist says, turning to face him as they near the edge of the market and the crowd thins, “But don’t worry, brother dearest - you’ll get to see him soon enough. We’ve got a patient coming tomorrow afternoon so you’ll need to go and ask the Arcsage when he’ll be ready for another treatment.”

“Feels like we’re treating more people than usual, lately,” Ike can’t help the feeling of unease that settles in his gut. 

“You’re imagining things,” Mist says with a flick of her wrist, “Now come on, father’s waiting.”

Ike frowns.

“We’re done shopping?” He says, shifting the weight of the bags in his arms, “That’s… fast…”

“Yes, well…” Mist sighs, “I  _ wanted _ to do more, but there’s a patient arriving from Talegra. The daughter of our Regent, I think.”

Ike’s lip curls in distaste which earns him a quick smack on the shoulder and an eyeroll from his unsympathetic sibling.

“Oh stop it. I don’t like nobility any more than you do, but keeping the peace within Daein is important what with our fractured government, so you’d better be on your best behavior!” She scolds, “Offending her could make things very difficult for us here…”

Ike spares a quick glance back towards the bustling market behind them. Even after a devastating war, and the plague that followed, Daein still wasn’t free from the domineering clutch of nobility. Nevassa is a peculiar case having no true nobles left after the war. All those in positions of power had ties to the Mad King and their power vanished when he was bested in battle. Those still alive fled to other cities, starting afresh with whatever remaining wealth they could muster. 

A council of sorts had filled the gap the nobility left behind, composed of elected officials with no true power, land, or wealth. Ike’s father took up the role of their unofficial leader which should make him a sort of… mayor? Or perhaps a governor. Ike’s not exactly sure what he is, and frankly, neither is anyone else. It’s a make-shift government at best, a poor replacement for their previous monarchy, but until the King of Goldoa decides to actually erect a proper government within the country he conquered, it’s the best they can manage.

Regardless, it’s Greil who meets with the Nobility of other towns and plays diplomat, vetting travelers and playing politics in the hope of keeping the uneasy peace that encircles Daein.

Ike hates pandering to those visiting nobles. He knows they wouldn’t deign to set foot in Nevassa if not for the existence of the Arcsage and Greil’s exclusive knowledge of how to reach him. Without that, Nevassa would have been shunned, heralded as only the place where the Mad King lived and the residents of the city would be considered something less than human.

Beasts, maybe.

Ike lets out a small grunt - neither committal or not - and Mist seems satisfied with that.

It won’t kill him to be civil to nobility… for a little while.

\-----

“That is completely unacceptable,” A muffled female voice snarls from the other side of the Clinic door. Mist and Ike share a look, neither making any move to open it.

“I understand your frustration Lady Petrine, but you have to understand -” The argument must have been going for quite some time for Greil’s voice to sound so strained.

“...She sounds… nice...” Mist mutters with a nervous glance at her brother. Ike simply lets out an exasperated sigh, and pushes the door open.

“And I’ll say it again, I will feel much more comfortable with my own esc-” The woman doubles over in a fit of wet, chest-wrecking coughs. The two armored men behind her are noticeably distressed, but also careful not to touch her, while Greil just looks tired.

He motions for Ike and Mist to come closer while Lady Petrine’s coughing subsides. Ike sets down their shopping and begrudgingly obeys while Mist decides to make herself scarce.

His father puts a hand on his shoulder as he nears them.

“Lady Petrine, if I may introduce my son, Ike,” Greil says, “He’s the Liaison for the Arcsage, and the one who will be escorting you.”

Lady Petrine clears her throat, eyes narrowed as she looks Ike up and down with decided disdain. 

Ike doesn’t flinch, but the hairs on his arms raise unpleasantly.

She’s a sharp-eyed woman, by no means frail, dainty or proper as most of the women of nobility are. If not for the immaculate condition of her long silken hair, lack of scars on her exposed arms or the fine embroidery on her simplistic black dress, Ike could have easily mistaken her for a bandit from her attitude alone.

In fact, he’s not convinced she isn’t one. Then again, his father seems to know of her, so her claim to nobility must be somewhat valid.

She sneers at him with her perfectly painted lips and clicks her tongue in displeasure.

“A lone boy?” She says, “You would have me travel alone with only a single escort? And a child at that?! I’ll bet his balls haven’t even dropped.” She spits every word with such entitled venom, that Ike clenches his hand into a fist on reflex alone. It’s only his father’s commanding presence that stops him from socking her right in the jaw, noble or not.

“I assure you, my Lady, that he’s quite the capable swordsman, hand picked by the Arcsage himself,” Greil says. 

Ike’s mouth parts slightly in surprise.

Hand picked by the Arcsage? 

By Soren?

That was news to him. If their first encounter was anything to go by, Soren hadn’t seemed to want anything to do with Ike... and yet his father claims that Soren requested him specifically?

It’s a bit odd.

Then again, it’s possible he’s overthinking the comment. His father could simply be telling Lady Petrine a little white lie in hopes of acquiring her cooperation. That seems far more likely than being handpicked by someone who outright detested him upon their first meeting.

Besides that, Ike was fairly certain that the Liasions were decided by council, not by the Arcsage. It was supposed to be an elected position of sorts, not a personal appointment.

“Be that as it may, someone of my stature should really be accompanied by… professionals,” The way she speaks causes Ike to bristle, “Certainly not a child.”

“I’m afraid there’s no room for negotiation on this,” Greil snaps back a little too quickly, “Escorts are not decided by council, or individuals. The Arcsage will only accept patients delivered by his chosen Liaison, and no other.”

...Ok, maybe the Liaison wasn’t decided by council. Or is this another lie? 

He’ll have to ask his father about it later.

“This is ridiculous… I demand -” She protests but Greil cuts her off.

“Besides that, the path that leads to his residence is guarded by powerful wards the Arcsage erected himself as a means of protection. Only the Liason has the ability bypass them, as you’re well aware,” Greil sighs, “Without Ike, you will not be seeing the Arcsage, whether I approve your request or not.”

The existence of magic detterrants in the forest is also news to Ike. He’s starting to wonder how much of this he’s known and forgotten, and how much he’s simply misunderstood or assumed to be true over the years. 

What else doesn’t he know? Or is this also a little white lie to placate their irritable guest? Or a rumor widely spread within the nobility to try and dissuade them from wandering in the woods unescorted?

“Then why not have him lead the escort?” Lady Petrine’s tone is condescending, “I don’t mind the boy as a guide, I’m merely… concerned at only having him for protection.”

Greil’s left eye twitches.

“I understand my Lady, but the Arcsage will not show himself if we do not adhere to his conditions,” Greil says firmly.

A long silence follows, Lady Petrine’s jaw clenched so tightly Ike can almost hear her teeth cracking under pressure.

“Fine,” She spits, standing abruptly and reveling in her true height, “The boy can escort me alone, but should anything untoward happen to me,” Her eyes narrow even further, “It will be the end of this city, I assure you.”

A tense silence fills the room for a few moments before Greil holds out his hand and gestures towards one of the curtained beds.

“I understand. Thank you for your generous cooperation… now if you’d please step behind the curtain, I’ll send Mist in to take a look at your flower,” He says.

Her eyes widen and narrow in equal proportions for an oddly furious glare.

“That’s hardly necessary,” She hisses, “I know very well the state of my health.”

“Actually, it’s very necessary,” Mist tries to keep her voice steady as she emerges from the attached room, “We need to see how far along your blossom is. If it’s not ready to bloom, then the treatment will be ineffective. The timing is very important,” Lady Petrine’s lips curdle like sour milk, “It will only take a moment, my Lady,” She adds swiftly.

“Do it here,” Lady Petrine all but commands as she re-seats herself, “Make it quick.”

Mist looks at Greil, moving only after he nods. And proceeds with the examination.

After a few short minutes of examining her throat she pulls back and looks to her father once more. 

“Her throat is swollen with pollen present. The roots in her chest seem quite extensive,” She says, “It’s a little early, but she should be treatable like this.”

“I see. Thank you, Mist,” Greil says, “Then we’ll send word to the Arcsage. Shall we set the time for tomorrow at noon?”

Tomorrow? That seems a bit too soon to Ike. Soren’s last patient was barely over a day ago and he was certainly in need of more rest than that.

For the first time Lady Petrine’s expression relaxes into something bordering on pleasant.

“The sooner the better,” She says, spinning on her heels and marching through the clinic door without so much as a simple farewell.

The door latches as Greil lets out a long, heavy breath. 

“Haaaah…” Mist whines, “That was awful.”

Her father laughs and takes a seat on a nearby stool. He rubs his eyes and lets his head roll back and forth.

“You alright, dad?” Ike asks. Greil opens his eyes and forces a tired smile.

“Yeah, I’m alright. It’s just been a tiring week,” He cracks his neck as he speaks, “I’m not cut out for politics, I’m afraid.”

“Yeah well, neither is Petrine,” Ike mumbles. He hadn’t meant for anyone to hear it but it still draws out a dry snort from his father and a delighted shriek from Mist. It’s an uplifting moment, but it does nothing to quell the feeling of worry that settles deep in his gut, “Hey, Dad…” His tone is a bit more somber this time, “Don’t you think the Arcsage has been seeing too many patients lately? Shouldn’t we delay Petr-uh, Lady Petrine’s treatment for a few days?”

Greil crosses his arms, deep in thought.

“I understand where you’re coming from, son,” He says, “And in most cases, yes, we’d delay the procedure as long as we could, but this woman’s hardly patient. She’s likely to give us a lot of trouble the more we put things off, so it’s best to send her as soon as possible,” Greil notices Ike’s downcast expression and gives him a small hopeful smile, “Relax, Ike. We’ll send a carrier pigeon to the Arcsage, and if he thinks it’s too soon, he’ll let us know and we’ll postpone Lady Petrine’s treatment. Alright?”

It doesn’t feel alright, but if Soren says it’s fine then… it’s fine.

Right?

\-----

The sun sinks low over the castle grounds bathing the world in a soft amber light. It’s quiet, only the sounds of birds and bullfrogs littering the silence from the lake below. 

It’s peaceful.

Relaxing.

Soren hates it.

He’s not one for resting. Even at leisure he’s used to having a book in his hand, combing line after line of arcane text looking for something - anything - that may aid in his research.

But there’s a limit to what a self-taught scholar can do especially without the resources provided by a guild. He has access to what’s left of Nevassa’s Royal Library, but the Mad King was never one for books. The collection was sparse at best, an odd assortment of eclectic tomes left behind by the few mages in the castles employ. 

He lets out a deep sigh and slumps over the stone wall lining his balcony, watching as the sun sets over the forest. He should be working. Maybe trying to translate that blasted passage written in cryptic ancient Gallian he’s been struggling with for weeks, or at least preparing what was left of the last Hanahaki Blossoms for brewing.

But he can’t. 

Micaiah - that troublesome little teapot - kicked him out of his study, insisting that it needed cleaning and Stefan won’t let him anywhere near the library.

It’s a sad day when his servants conspire against him.

And ok, maybe he’s spent a bit too much time locked inside lately but that’s no reason to lock him outside with nothing but his thoughts for company. It’s not as though he can leave the castle grounds, the servants take care of what little daily chores need doing, and there’s only so much attention his greenhouse projects can take before he’s doing far more harm than good, so what  _ else  _ is he supposed to do but work?

...In truth, he knows what they’d  _ like _ him to do, but if they think he’s going out of his way to contact Ike first they’ve got another thing co-

Soren shakes his head and looks back to the sunset, resting his clothed chin against his gloved hand.

Better to stop line of thinking early. There’s no sense getting caught up in senseless frivolities. He has more important things to think about, more important things to focus on. And Ike does not deserve to have his time wasted on someone like him. 

It’s better for Soren to be alone. 

A small flitter of white catches his eye, stark against the redness of the sky. At first he thinks it’s Reyson, returning from his afternoon flight, but it’s far too small to be him. He holds out his hand as the bird draws closer and it lands on his fingers without hesitation.

Soren’s heart skips a soft beat. It’s a carrier pigeon, a small message tied to its legs and he can’t help but smile in spite of himself. His smile only grows as he reads the sparse lines, earlier admonishments forgotten in an instant.

“And what do we have here?” Soren jumps at the sound of Micaiah’s voice coyly crooning at him from behind. 

He glares at her.

“I thought you had a study to clean,” He snaps, rolling the small length of parchment and tucking it into the folds of his robes. The little floral teapot laughs and hops up on the stone wall.

“It looks like a two day job,” She hums, “Might want to make plans for tomorrow since you’ll be out of work for a few days.”

He hides what’s left of his smile behind his collar.

“...I already have plans.” Soren says quietly.

“Oh?” Micaiah’s smile widens, “Are they with someone I know?”

Soren rolls his eyes and flicks her lid. She yelps and scrambles to catch it before it falls to the floor.

“There’s a patient coming in the afternoon,” He pushes his hand upward and the pigeon takes off, gone as quickly as he came.

“Of course there is,” She grumbles, “And here I was hoping you might go and do something fun for once. Why not ask Ike to -”

“That’s enough,” Soren says quickly, eyes burning with a quiet warning Micaiah knows quite well, “There’s a patient arriving tomorrow afternoon, so you’ll have plenty of time to finish whatever it is you need to finish since I’ll be confined to the west wing.”

“Now Soren, don’t you think you ought to -” Micaiah starts.

“Leave it,” Soren warns.

“But-” She tries once more.

“ _ Leave it, _ ” He hisses, eyes narrowed with a thinly veiled threat. She chews the inside of her porcelain cheek, disgruntled but decidedly deterred. Soren turns away from her and heads back towards the doorway.

He stops, fingers trailing down the cold stone wall.

“Wasn’t your little stunt last week enough?” He asks more to emphasize a point than to get a real answer, “I’ve already promised to be civil, what more do you want?” 

Micaiah sighs, her teasing tone absent the next time she speaks.

“I want what you want,” She says softly, “And I know you don’t want to be alone.”

Her words make him bristle. 

“Things are fine the way they are, and you would do best to leave well enough alone,” His voice is frigid with only the faintest quiver of uncertainty. 

She may be right, but that doesn’t mean he’ll give her the satisfaction of confirmation. He vanishes into the hallway of the west wing without looking back. He knows what must be done and he’s not going to let Micaiah sway him with her watery words of encouragement like she has in the past. He no longer has any need for the distractions that Ike represents.

Maybe in another time, another place… maybe even a few months ago he would have allowed himself to be swayed without guilt, but… things are different now. There’s no time for her nonsense, not with so much at stake. He’ll cherish what little he can, treasure those small moments where he feels wanted, but he’ll allow himself nothing else. It’s more than enough for… someone like him.

The parchment tucked in his robes burns like a hot coal against his chest.

He hates the feeling and the way it makes his heart ache, but clutches the short letter closer with no intention of letting go.

\-----

Lady Petrine is possibly the worst person Ike has ever had the displeasure to escort.

They’re already way behind schedule as Lady Petrine had wasted several hours going on and on about the importance of having her guards accompany them. Her shrieking left Ike with a headache, a permanently clenched jaw, and a weird twitch in his right eyebrow.

Scratch that - she’s definitely the worst person Ike’s ever had the displeasure to escort.

She cuts a mean figure in tight slacks - and by that, Ike means…  _ mean _ . Like she only traded her dress for slacks so she could use the former as a body bag once she beat you to death with the heel of her boot. She’s vastly different from the nobles Ike’s used to seeing around town and he’s still not entirely convinced she’s not a bandit that struck it rich somehow and decided to play noble as some sort of weird retirement game.

Nobles have certainly done stranger things. Bandits too.

Fortunately she stays quiet for the duration of the trip barring the frequent inquiries on how close they were to reaching their destination. It’s far better than her furious shrieking, so Ike will take what he can get.

For the first time since Ike became the Liaison, Soren is waiting in the courtyard to greet him. Reyson is perched on a crumbling statue nearby.

The sight of him does something to Ike’s chest - a strange flip and unfurls into a wide smile on his lips. He doesn’t think too much of it as he dismounts.

“You’re late,” Soren’s voice is unexpectedly lacking in any sort of irritation. It’s a little odd, but Ike’s had more than enough irritability for the day, so he’ll take what he can get.

“Sorry,” He says drawing closer and lowering his voice so his charge can’t hear them, “This one’s been a little… difficult.”

Soren considers him a moment, eyes unreadable. He looks to the wagon in silence, but doesn’t move.

“I thought you were bringing me a patient today,” He says after an extended silence.

Ike frowns.

“I did,” He says, “She’s in the cart.”

Soren is quiet, eyes fixated on the wagon, and arms crossed pensively across his chest.

“I might not be able to treat this one,” He says after a long while, “I don’t think she’s anywhere near blossoming.”

Ike blinks owlishly.

“Huh?” That can’t be right. Mist had checked Lady Petrine thoroughly the day before. She did say it was a little early, but surely the woman was far enough along for treatment.

Mist has never been wrong before…

It’s not like Soren to hesitate. He’s usually decisive, quick to act and unapologetic. His unwillingness to approach the cart has Ike a little worried.

“Are you ok?” He leans down to ask the question and Soren visibly startles.

Ike’s not sure what to make of that.

“Yes,” He says, “I was just thinking,” Soren continues to look at the cart for a long, long while before he finally glances at Ike and says, “Wait here.”

There’s something about Soren’s tone that has Ike on edge. An unpleasant anxious buzz reverberates in the back of his mind.

“Are you sure?” He asks, even more quietly than before, “I know it hasn’t been that long since your last patient, so if you want I can take her back -”

“No, it’s alright,” Soren cuts him off abruptly, “It’s rare for the blossom to be so… subtle. I’d like to see it for myself.”

Ike swallows the uneasy lump in his throat. He manages a nod and stands ready near the back of the cart. He trusts Soren to know when things aren’t as they seem, but it doesn’t help the way he feels. 

His nails dig into his palms as Soren climbs into the wagon.

Ike waits.

It’s only a moment later when he hears a muffled yelp. His heart leaps into his throat and before he can even register the implications of the sound, he’s hoisting himself up into the cart and calling Soren’s name.

He had every right to be worried.

His eyes lock with Lady Petrine’s, a twisted smile on her painted lips. He barely has time to take in Soren’s limp body in her lap and the small syringe in his neck before a sharp pain shoots through his throat and his vision fades to black.

\-----

Everything hurts. 

At least, he thinks everything hurts. Everything he can feel hurts, but maybe that’s just his head? His head  _ definitely _ hurts.

It’s dark too. Why is it dark? It was sunny out a moment ago, but he can’t see anything. Where did the light go?

Right, blinking. Eyes need to blink. That’s why it’s so dark, he’s just not blinking. Why does it hurt to blink? His eyelids are incredibly heavy and the small bits of light streaming in through his lashes only paint blurry, distorted images he can’t make heads or tails of.

He closes them again.

There’s ringing in his ears, but faintly he can hear something else… voices maybe? 

“What took you so long?!”

Ike blinks a few more times and it hurts a little less as he does. 

There’s a black figure a distance away, but he can’t tell much more than that. It’s thin, so it might be a woman? The voice is fairly shrill for a man. Must be a woman.

“Apologies, but those magic wards took a long time to wear off m’lady. We kept getting lost,” Another voice, male this time… Ike doesn’t recognize it. 

His head still aches, but his vision is clearing slowly. He’s still a little disoriented, and his brain feels like it’s moving frustratingly slow.

He focuses on the voices, trying to understand what they’re saying. They sound a little muffled, like his ears are full of water.

“He must have much stronger magic than we thought if it took that long for the wards to stop functioning. He even saw through that spell that fooled that little girl in Nevassa...” The female voice says, “Not that it matters much now. We’ve got what we came for. The sooner we get back, the sooner we get paid, so let’s get moving, boys! Get that cart hooked up, and fast!” She bellows.

Cart… cart… yes, there was something important about a cart. Something… very important, but Ike can’t recall what it was. 

“Beggin yer pardon ma’am, but why the sudden change a’ plans?” Another male voice, still no one Ike can place, “I thought yeh were goin’ ta meet us at the rendezvous point?”

“And I  _ was, _ ” The woman’s voice is irritable and unpleasant, “But that stupid horse slipped his harness and I can’t catch him. I can hardly lug these two around on foot.”

These two? Ike blinks some more and turns his head as his mind begins to catch up to the rest of him. 

The cobblestones are cold against his cheek. That explains why everything is all topsy-turvey, he’s laying down. Or did he fall down?

He tries to flex his arms but they’re stuck together at the wrist. His legs seem alright barring the hot, tingling sensation prickling his feet, but he can move them. That’s the important thing.

“Why are we takin’ two of em? I thought we were jus’ takin’ the sage?” It’s yet another unknown male voice. 

How many of them are there?

“Yes, well,” The woman drones, “The two seemed rather close, so I thought keeping the boy alive might give the sage some…  _ incentive  _ to cooperate.”

The sage… the sage… Who is this sa…g...e…?

Ike’s eyes snap open. 

Soren.

Where’s Soren?!

The disoriented haze that had settled in his mind clears instantly.

Something happened to Soren.

Ike looks around frantically, vision still slightly blurred. There’s half a dozen men at least and… Petrine at the center, ordering them about the courtyard. Ragnell’s missing, but there’s a new horse being fitted into his harness. 

He curses to himself internally. She’d tricked them. Even with her awful attitude and questionable nature he still never suspected Petrine capable of pulling off something like this. Maybe bribery for preferential treatment but not kidnapping.

What was she even after? Wait - money. She said they were going to sell him, so the motive must be money.

Ike tries to right himself on the cobblestones.

It doesn’t matter what her plans are, what matters is finding Soren and getting him somewhere safe as soon as possible. 

He shrugs his shoulders and tries to shift the stiffness from his limbs, but as feeling returns to his wrists dread seeps into his gut for he can’t move them at all. There’s something holding them in place. Rope, maybe. 

The bitch tied him up.

Ike curses again. 

“Ike!” Ike whips his head around to find the source of the frantic whisper, “Are you ok?!”

Ike breathes an instant sigh of relief. He’s never been so happy to see a piece of pottery in his entire life.

“Sothe…” Ike says as the sugar bowl cautiously approaches him, “They’ve got Soren!” 

“I know, I know,” Sothe murmurs, “I’m going to try and untie you so sit up straight. Or try. You can’t let them see me or I can’t help you.”

The bandits aren’t paying any attention to him, too wrapped up in discussing their plans and loading up the wagon. He’s sore and still a bit numb, but his legs aren’t bound so he manages to sit up properly and tries to get a better lay of the land while Sothe gets to work.

Soren must still be in the cart because Ike can’t see him anywhere. He counts seven well-armed men, nine horses, two wagons - including his - and Petrine. He’s vastly outnumbered and stands next to no chance in fighting them all off. The familiar weight of his sword is absent from his hip - they must have taken it when they tied him up. Unarmed, his only real option is to try and take Soren and run… but to where?

At least if Ragnell were somewhere nearby, Ike could stand a fighting chance. He’ll have to steal a horse at the same time. It’s a horrible plan, but if the castle staff can distract them long enough, they may stand a chance at escape.

“We’re all set with the wagon, ma’am,” One of the bandits says.

Ike swallows hard. They’re running out of time.

“Sothe, hurry up!” Ike hisses.

“I am hurrying! Do you know how hard it is to untie knots without thumbs!?” Sothe snaps back.

“This is no time for sarcasm, Sothe!” Micaiah hisses from the crack in the front door.

“Good. Get the kid and let’s go,” Petrine says, gesturing back to Ike.

Oh no. 

No, no, no, no, no. He needs to buy himself some more time. His mind races, desperately trying to piece together a plan for distraction when - 

A sharp cry echoes through the courtyard.

As if on cue, Reyson shoots down from above and dives at Petrine. She shrieks and swats him away, but Reyson is huge and intimidating by sheer size alone. 

He squaks and cries, flapping his wings as hard as he can until the dust swirls around the courtyard.

“What’s -” Petrine coughs, “Wrong with this -” She coughs again, “Stupid bird?!”

“Someone shoot it!” One of the bandits shouts.

“You do it, I can’t bloody see anything!” Another one shouts back.

“Sothe, c’mon!” Ike urges. Reyson’s given him the perfect opportunity to swipe Soren and go, but his cover won’t last long.

“Shut up already! I’ve almost got it!” Sothe says a bit too loudly. Ike twists his wrists, “I’ve almost - there!”

The ropes finally give and Ike scrambles to his feet. 

The dust starts to clear.

“Ike, catch!” Ike barely sees the candlestick out of the corner of his eye before Stefan hurls his sword back at him. 

He catches it by the sheath, and runs straight for his cart. He doesn’t get far before the dust settles and one of the men alerts the rest to his presence.

Ike draws his blade quickly and cuts mercilessly through the first man. He goes for the next, but his strike is parried by a infuriated Petrine.

“You little  _ brat!” _ She screams and strikes at him. He barely manages the parry, spins and slashes at another attacker’s leg, taking him down while Reyson grabs Petrine’s hair with his talons and  _ pulls _ .

He can’t waste time fighting her if he can help it. He has to get Soren and get them both somewhere safe as quickly as possible.

“Soren!” Ike shouts, “Where are you!?”

There’s no response. He must still be out cold.

“Someone catch that stupid bird!” Petrine orders, and attacks Ike with all the vitriol she can muster.

An arrow barely misses Reyson’s wing, but he loses his hold of Petrine in the process and Ike barely blocks her attack.

Panic causes Ike’s hands to tremble. He’s vastly outnumbered and Petrine is certainly skilled. It doesn’t matter how strong he thinks he is, he knows coming out of this encounter alive is next to impossible. 

But he has to try.

Block. Dodge. He circles to the rear only for the strike to be parried. He manages a small hit to her shoulder but it’s nothing more than a glancing blow. 

Her swings are wide and rash with huge openings presented as bait. He doesn’t know how to read her movements and barely maintains his defensive position.

She attacks him viciously, the clanging of metal on metal ringing out in the courtyard in a sick rhythm.

“We got im’!” One of the bandits shouts, and that’s all it takes for Petrine to lower her guard just enough for Ike to land a successful blow to her knee.

She crumbles to the ground with an enraged scream and hurls her blade at him. 

It barely misses him.

He stands a good distance away trying to catch his breath. It takes two men to hold Reyson down as he thrashes and screams.

Ike needs a new plan. Fast.

“What are you idiots just standing there for!? Get him!” Her command rumbles with rage. The remaining men draw their weapons, and charge towards him.

Ike drops into his stance once more. 

They don’t get far.

There’s a snarl, a roar that sounds like it ripped itself from the throat of a furious bear.

Then, without warning, a shadow leaps from the back of the cart, teeth glinting in the afternoon sun as they latch onto the throat of the nearest bandit.

The man can’t even cry out.

The shadow’s head snaps back as the man falls to the ground with a quick flash of light. It leaves him, all four limbs on the ground like some sort of beast, a blood soaked violet clenched between its teeth.

Ike’s heart drops as he recognizes with horror exactly what - or who - the beast is.

“Soren…” He chokes out, blade falling to the ground, “Soren!” 

Glowing red eyes, wide and wild stare back at him from behind a curtain of black hair. There’s no hood to hide the black ribbed horns curling along his skull or the smattering of black scales along his jaw. A long tail, thick and ridged like a crocodile’s sways from beneath his robes.

There’s no recognition in his face as he looks at Ike. 

What happened to him?

Soren crunches down on the violet between his teeth, swallows, and pins his gaze on the next bandit.

The man tries to back away but he’s paralyzed with fear. Soren growls, and leaps from the ground from all fours, teeth sinking into his throat as they both fall to the ground with a sickening crack.

The rest of the bandits scatter like mice, along with the horses they brought with them, freeing Reyson and leaving Petrine screaming obscenities after them.

Ike forces his legs to move and he stumbles more than runs towards them, calling Soren’s name over and over and over. He barely makes it there as Soren rips a white daffodil from the man’s throat and devours it, blood and all. 

He looks towards the woods in the direction the rest of the men fled, but Ike reaches for him before Soren can move.

“Soren! Soren, calm down!” He grabs him from behind, wincing as Soren’s claws dig into his arm. He thrashes wildly about, kicks and claws at Ike’s hold, snarling and gnashing his teeth.

“Soren, stop it! Get a hold of yourself!” Ike yells frantically, tightening his hold on him.

Soren flails more, snarling with increasing ferocity. 

Ikes arms drip with blood. 

He’s not sure how much longer he can keep him restrained when suddenly, the most haunting song surrounds him.

It’s a beautiful song, each note reverberating against the courtyard stonework and sends disquieting chills down his spine. Tears roll involuntarily down his cheeks and his heart beat grows louder and louder and louder and-

The growling stops.

The flailing stops.

The man in his arms goes limp with the passing of the song’s final note.

Ike breathes a shaky sigh of relief.

But the relief is short lived. Soren begins to convulse, and heave. His body trembles, then shakes. Something moves against Ike’s chest - two things, rolling between him and Soren’s back.

Soren jerks forward with unexpected force and out of Ike’s hold, coughing and retching blood onto the ground. With each expulsion, his trembling intensifies, and the lumps on his back grow larger and larger.

The coughing doesn’t stop until the flowers he ate burst from his mouth in a pool of blood and bile.

He begins to sob uncontrollably.

Ike doesn’t know what to do. 

“Soren…?” Ike crawls towards him. He reaches out to rub his lower back, but the lumps on his shoulders are moving… twisting.

Soren jerks forward with a terrifying, painful scream. Ike can only watch in horror as two giant skeletal wings burst through his robe in an eruption of skin and blood.

Ike remains frozen in the dirt as they unfurl. Thin panes of skin drawn taught against the bones, tearing as the wings flex and curl. 

They don’t last long. As the skin tears, the bones begin to snap like brittle twigs. One by one, they snap and hang by thin strips of flesh as Soren cries out in immeasurable pain.

Soren’s voice is raw, his final scream harrowing as his wings snap at the base and fall to the ground in a twisted mess of blood, skin, and splinters.

Soren collapses into the dirt, body heaving as he sobs and curls into himself.

Ike swallows the lump in his throat and scrambles towards him.

“Soren? Soren?” His voice is shaking and his cheeks are hot and wet with worry. Reyson lands nearby and bumps his head against Ike’s shoulder, then nods towards the castle. Ike takes a deep breath, then nods in return, balancing himself on his feet and lifting the shivering sage into his arms as the blood from his back soaks into Ike’s sleeve.

He leaves the bodies of the men and a screaming Petrine in the courtyard.

There are more important things to deal with.

\-----

“Okay… okay… um… I need…” Ike tries to navigate his thoughts through a muddled haze of worry and panic. Soren lay whimpering and bleeding on the settee, “Bandages… And water. Warm water - a needle, thread… some cloth…” 

Stefan, Micaiah and Sothe clamber behind him.

“I’ll go get some water!” Micaiah says, hopping towards the kitchen as quickly as a teapot can.

“Needle and thread. I’m on it,” Sothe hops in the opposite direction and disappears up the stairway.

“Master Reyson, can you get some strips of cloth from the young master’s bedroom?” Stefan asks. Reyson nods his head and glides up the stairs after Sothe. He pats the back of Ike’s calf with his nub of a candle to get his attention, “I think I should attend to our… guest.”

“Guest? But Soren-” Ike protests.

“It’s hardly safe to leave that woman unattended,” Stefan says a bit too calmly, “Put some pressure on his back to stem the bleeding, and wait for the others to return.”

“Right! Right… Pressure on back,” Ike repeats, “I can do that. I can do that...”

Stefan taps brass against Ike’s calf in what’s supposed to be a reassuring gesture.

“Ike, the young master is a lot stronger than he looks,” He says, “He’ll be fine. Just… stay with him.”

Ike takes a couple deep breaths and nods. 

“Right. Yeah, ok. I will. I’ll -” He turns around only to find an empty, blood-stained settee where mere moments before Soren had been, “...Soren?” 

He frantically searches the room, spotting a faint trail of blood up the stairs and the quick flick of a scaly black tail disappearing up the western staircase.

“Soren!” Ike calls after him, “Soren, wait!”

Ike races after him, slipping on a small patch of blood. He loses sight of him at the top of the stairs, but heads west, following the fresh trail of blood. 

He catches a glimpse of the tip of Soren’s tail at the end of the hallway and calls after him, “Soren!” but Soren doesn’t stop. 

He runs clumsily up two more flights of stairs and three hallways before Ike truly loses him and stops calling his name, choosing instead to listen, and catch his breath.

There’s a dozen doors on the fourth floor, some broken, some in-tact, all of them closed. He could open each one, check every room in turn, but a tiny smear of blood near the handle of the sixth door on the left tells him everything he needs to know. He waits outside for a moment, listening for Soren’s labored breathing, before knocking as gently as possible.

“Soren…?” Ike tries to keep his voice steady and quiet, hoping that if he doesn’t sound upset then maybe Soren will respond to him.

He doesn’t.

Carefully, Ike pushes the door open and lets his eyes adjust to the darkness. 

From what little light comes from the only portion of the window that’s not boarded up, he can see that the room is completely trashed, but the damage isn’t recent. There’s an overturned table, chairs with missing legs, smashed paintings and piles of broken glass that crack under his boots. It must have been a fine meeting room at one point although it’s a little difficult to picture. Even the curtains, once thick and red and trimmed with gold, are nothing more than tattered sheets barely hanging to their rods.

Soren sits huddled in the corner as far from the light as possible with an old black silk table cloth pulled tightly over his head. He’s still crying, softly this time, shivering and gasping in pain. Ike would have missed him, if not for the twitching tail laying carelessly exposed beneath a small sliver of light. 

Ike approaches him as quietly as he can and kneels beside him.

“Hey,” He says softly and reaches out to touch what he thinks is his shoulder, “Soren? Are… you ok?”

His hand is violently slapped aside, red eyes glaring out at him from beneath the shroud.

“Leave… me…  _ alone _ !” Soren’s voice is too raw to scream although he tries. The outburst proves too much for him, as he doubles over, dissolving into tears as the explosion of anger strains his injuries.

“You’re hurt,” Ike says softly, “Let me help you -” Ike tries to reach for him again, but his hand is refused once more.

“No!” Soren tries to shout again but his voice breaks midway through, punctuated with a strenuous gasp.

“Soren, please -” Ike’s jaw clenches as he goes for Soren’s shoulder.

“I said no!” Soren lashes out against him. It’s a weak strike though, the type one would use to swat away a bug or an unpleasant thought. Ike catches his wrist, and when Soren tries to swipe at him with his other hand, Ike catches that one too.

“Soren, calm down. Look at me,” Ike pleads, “I just want to help.”

“No… no, let me go! Let me go!” Soren struggles weakly against Ike’s hold, “ _ Please… _ ” He begs, tears dribbling down his cheeks and pooling at his lips until his cries slur together.

Ike’s heart twists painfully in his chest.

“I won’t let go of you,” He says, “Not until you calm down.”

He releases his hold on Soren’s wrist and wraps his arms around Soren’s lower back and neck, carefully avoiding the open wounds.

“Idiot…” Soren whispers muffled insults into Ike’s shoulder, “Stupid… moron…” Ike says nothing, just rubs tiny circles into the uninjured parts of Soren’s back and lets him cry.

It takes a long moment before Soren finally lets loose and curls his claw-less fingers into Ike’s shoulders. 

“It’s ok… You’re ok…” Ike chants over and over as Soren silently soaks his tunic with tears.

Ike swallows his own tears, and takes slow, even breaths trying to calm the shivering mage he’s holding. For a moment, he tries to forget how much the gashes on Soren’s back threaten his life. They need to be cleaned and dressed as soon as possible but… somehow, Ike can’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, there are far deeper wounds on Soren’s heart.

He comforts himself knowing that the blood dribbling down his arms isn’t warm, and that the bleeding may be slowing on its own. 

Soren continues to cry.

When the dry heaving finally slows, Ike tries to pull back, but Soren digs in deeper and refuses to let Ike move.

“Soren?” Ike says as calmly as possible, “Will you let me help you now?” 

Soren’s grip doesn’t loosen.

“Please?” Ike pleads. Soren shakes his head, the tip of one of his horns rubbing against the side of Ike’s neck.

It’s a strange sensation.

“Soren…” Ike tries again. This time he gets a response.

“No,” Soren mumbles.

“We really need to treat your injuries,” Ike says with poorly masked urgency.

“No…” Soren says again.

“Why not?” Ike asks, resuming his earlier activities and rubbing small circles into the uninjured portions of Soren’s back.

Soren hesitates, grip loosening only a little.

“Because,” He says after a long pause, “I…” He swallows, “I don’t want… you to see…”

Ike sighs and gives Soren an expected squeeze meant for reassurance.

“Nothing is more important to me right now than making sure you’re ok,” Ike says as gently as he can, hoping it may convince Soren to relax, “I know it’s hard, but… I’m asking for you to trust me with this.”

“You don’t understand,” Soren’s voice trembles tenuously. He shrinks further into Ike’s chest, fisting Ike’s tunic like a helpless child.

“Ike, I - I... I’m a  _ monster _ ,” His voice nothing more than a terrified whisper.

_ Oh. _

Several things suddenly click into place in Ike’s mind. Soren’s hood, high collar, gloves and even his abrasive personality… everything was to keep Ike in the dark. He didn’t want him to know.

He didn’t want to be rejected, or feared for the way he looked.

Ike nuzzles Soren’s hair, and breathes deep. Soren must have experienced something like this in the past with the other Liaisons. They must have taken one look at him and called him a monster, or a beast. With only one Liaison at a time and effectively no supervision, they could have done anything they wanted to him without any repercussions. And maybe they did.

Was that why Soren rejected him so fervently when Ike first arrived? Was that why Nevassa was always cycling through Liaisons?

Did Soren think Ike would be like that too?

It makes Ike furious to think that there were people out there willing to hurt the fragile man that shivered weakly in his arms. And even with all that pain, Soren still gave everything he had to the people of Daein, working night and day to find a cure for the Hanahaki. 

No one with so much good in them, could ever be considered a monster, no matter their looks.

“You’re not a monster,” Ike says with all the sincerity he can muster, “Monsters don’t have hearts.”

He almost wants to slap himself for saying something so cheesy and embarrassing, but he means it. 

They share a few slow breaths before Soren’s grip on him relaxes. Ike pulls away slightly and presses their foreheads together.

He picks up one of Soren’s hands, places it against his chest, smiling softly.

“See?” He can’t quite make out Soren’s expression, their faces are too close together, but Soren shows no sign of moving away. They sit in silence, simply breathing and listening to the faint, uneven beat of Soren’s heart.

Finally,Soren looks up. 

“...I… need help,” The admission is raw, and vulnerable in a way that makes Ike feel truly special.

He takes Soren by both hands and pulls him to his unsteady feet.

“That’s what I’m here for,” He says.

Soren barely nods and collapses against him.

\-----

Soren sits awkwardly behind Ike as the latter adds another bucket of water to the warmed tub. He’s promised not to look, but the awkward shuffling of fabric punctuated by sharp hisses of pain test Ike’s resolve. 

“Ike?” Soren asks tentatively.

“Yes?” Ike does not turn around. He made a promise.

“Can you… look away while I…?” Soren probably gestured towards the tub. 

“Yeah! Sure. No problem,” Ike faces the back wall and takes a few deep breaths to calm himself. In a few moments, he will be able to see all of Soren for the first time in proper light and he’s not entirely sure what to expect. He knows he has horns, a tail… that his skin is pearly white, with long black hair, but what else? He doesn’t want to accidentally overreact to some unexpected feature. It would strain the very tentative trust Soren had placed in him.

The water sloshes and Soren hisses as the water hits his lower back.

“You can turn around now,” He says. Ike swallows, and does as he’s told.

Fortunately, he hadn’t much to worry about. 

Soren’s back was towards him, both gaping wounds caked in blood covering the top half his back, scales peeling slightly at the edges. The scales themselves are beautiful, black with a stunning violet sheen when the light hits them just right. Just when he thinks Soren’s scales are all jet black, he spots several thin white markings, twirling and curling around his limbs like vines, one of them ending with a small floral-like triangular pattern.

He traces one with his finger, eliciting a flinch and a shudder from the tender sage.

“Did that hurt,” He asks, withdrawing his hand in favor of picking up a small bowl.

“No. I just wasn’t expecting it,” Soren mumbles. He draws his fingers, black everywhere but his palms through his long hair, pulling it completely over his shoulder so it’s out of Ike’s way. 

“Okay,” Ike dips the bowl in the tub and pours the contents down Soren’s back. He flinches each time Soren’s breath hitches, but keeps going until the warm water is dyed a faint pink.

The bathroom is filled with nothing but the sounds of Soren’s muffled gasps and the water that trickles down his back.

Ike wishes the guilt welling up in his chest was as easily washed away.

He trades the bowl for a thick cloth, and soaks it in a clean basin.

“I’m sorry,” Ike says as he gingerly rubs the cloth against stubborn clots of blood.

“What for?” Soren twists the ends of his hair beneath the water as a means to distract from the pain, “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I brought Petrine here,” Ike chews the inside of his cheek, “...Even though I knew she wasn’t trustworthy, I still brought her here… I’m sorry.”

Soren turns slightly, his pale profile barely visible.

“It’s alright,” Soren says, “I know she tricked you into thinking she was blossoming. You did the right thing to bring her here. I… probably shouldn’t have tried to deal with her on my own.”

“How can you…” Ike clicks his tongue and wrings out his cloth, “You could have died, you know? They were going to sell you off to goddess knows who for goddess knows why. How is that alright?”

Soren snorts derisively.

“You really think they’d take a…  _ beast _ back to their client?” Ike can barely see the corner of his smirk, “They all ran the moment I -” He trails off, “...Well, you saw it. You know what happened.”

“Then that wasn’t because of the drug?” Ike dips his cloth in an herbal soaked infusion and brings it back to the gashes on Soren’s back, “That’s… something that happens anyway?”

Soren hisses in pain, but dismisses Ike’s frantic apology. 

“If I - ah! If I lose control over my magic, then yes. That happens,” He says.

Ike hums thoughtfully, carefully drizzling the herbal solution into each wound in turn.

“Why?” He asks after an exceptionally long pause.

“Why does it matter?” Soren replies with chilling detachment.

“Because!” Ike fumbles for words, “Because I… I care about you, you know? So… I care about what happens to you, too.”

Soren turns around a little further, eyes damp and lips parted slightly in surprise. His eyes search Ike’s for any sign of insincerity. In finding none, he turns back around and continues twisting his hair beneath the water.

“I...I see…” He mumbles.

Soren doesn’t say anything for a long while, and Ike doesn’t press his luck. 

The water is barely tepid when Soren speaks again.

“Even though I’m like this?” He asks. It takes Ike far too long to realize what Soren was asking, but his answer comes quickly and easily.

“You might look a little different from most people,” He says with a small smile that Soren can’t see, “But that’s ok. I’m ok with different,” He finishes cleaning Soren’s back, then holds out a hand so Soren can see it, “Do you need help standing?”

Ike expects him to refuse right away, but instead Soren stares at his arm for an uncomfortable amount off time. It almost makes him jump when Soren’s slender fingers gently skim the surface of his forearm just below the punctures left by his claws.

“...Did I do this?” Soren whispers. It may be phrased as a question, but Ike recognizes it as an admission.

“Ah,” Ike tries to laugh it off, but the skin is rather sore even though the bleeding has stopped, “It’s ok. You didn’t do it on purpose, and it doesn’t hurt,” Still, he doesn’t move his arm and Soren doesn’t remove his fingers.

Slowly, Soren turns, this time facing Ike completely and whatever Ike was going to say gets caught in his throat.

Soren’s eyes are far less intimidating in the light. Almond shaped, lashless but still trimmed naturally in black. His face is far too pale even for the fairest of humans, and Ike can just barely make out the subtle ridges of scales across his cheeks. Even his lips are pale, lacking any hint of pink, and his nose is a little too flat for his caucasion jawline, marred with a streak of black scales that extend down from his forehead where one of those white vine-like markings ends.

He’s even younger than Ike initially thought - or at least he appears to be. They may be around the same age, or thereabouts. Perhaps a little younger, but it’s honestly quite difficult to tell with his unusual features.

It’s not that he’s beautiful, but his face is interesting in a way Ike finds appealing. It holds him with a fascination that Ike can’t shake except to trace the arc of Soren’s horns as they curl back around his skull and settle beneath his small ears, lost in a curtain of long black hair.

He’s so distracted that he barely registers the feeling of Soren’s fingers moving against his arm, or the faint chanting of foreign words or the heat that seeps into his skin.

But those eyes flick back up at him, wary and hopeful.

“I hope you’ll accept my apology,” He says with a hint of embarrassment and pulls away.

Ike doesn’t quite understand what he means, but before he can ask for clarification, he catches sight of his arm - fully healed, and puncture free.

He looks at Soren, then his arm, then back to Soren, then back to his arm.

“You…” He starts, but ends up laughing breathlessly, “That’s amazing…” He clears his throat and reaches for a towel, unfolding it and holding it up like a makeshift changing screen, “So um… will you let me bandage your back now? I mean, you kinda bandaged me up, so it’s only fair I return the favor.”

A small smile creases Soren’s face and it sends Ike’s heartbeat into a frenzy.

“Yes, Ike.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now it's time to develop a relationship... or two. ;)


	4. Stems

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could bore you with a lengthy write up about how 2020 was shit and killed my creativity, but I won't. I feel like all I need to do is say, "Sorry the update took too long cuz 2020 existed" and most of you will understand what that means lol
> 
> In any case, I kinda got my groove back a bit. There's only two chapters left (three if the last one is long and I need to split it, or decide on an epilogue), so I had to spend a LOT of time really hammering out how I wanted the story to end. I have a pretty clear idea now, so chapters should come a lot quicker. 
> 
> Fingers crossed.

It’s been hours.

Hallway after hallway, room after room - a never ending maze of stone and filthy carpet. Every door looks the same, and it’s too dark to see whether or not he’s left any footprints in the dust. For all Ike knows, he could be walking in circles, there’s no way to tell.

The castle is easily the largest building he’s ever seen - at least ten times the size of the Nevassa Cathedral, and he’s pretty sure the entire town square and market could fit comfortably in the entry hall alone. The library where he left his mother is easily five times the size of his house and the back gardens combined.

Ike rounds another corner and tries to peer through the slit of a window. He can barely make out a lake nearby with a small Gazebo towards the shore. It’s definitely not the same view as the library so he’s probably on the other side of the castle at the very least. He leans back against the cold stone and lets out a big sigh, sinking down to the floor.

Maybe he should call for help.

There’s a quiet rustling of fabric, or something like it coming from one end of the hallway. He turns just in time to catch sight of a shadow slipping around a corner at the other end.

“H-hey! Wait!” Ike stumbles to his feet and sprints after it. His pulse quickens far too quickly, his heart thudding against his ribs like a hammer. He has no idea what he’s chasing. It could be a person, or a wild animal or…

Or maybe his mind is just playing tricks on him, he thinks as he rounds a corner and stops to catch his breath in the light of a neglected courtyard. He looks around, hoping for another glimpse at the shadow he saw before, but there’s nothing but overgrown rose bushes, a toppled statue and some stone benches.

Ike swallows, his tongue sliding through the gap of his missing front tooth, and takes some forced deep breaths in a poor attempt at being quiet. 

He jumps at the faintest sound of rustling from across the courtyard, eyes locked on a couple of trembling yellow leaves on one of the rose bushes.

Slowly, cautiously, he tiptoes across the grass and stone. The leaves don’t rustle again no matter how long he waits. Still, he knows something’s there. He crouches down in front of the bush and pushes the branches aside, careful to avoid their thorny stems.

Wide red eyes stare back at him.

“UWAAAH!” Ike shouts and falls backwards.

What was that? It was too large for a cat, not fluffy enough for a wolf. It was… human-like, but Ike’s never seen a human with red eyes like that before, so it probably wasn’t human.

Or was it?

The sound of shuffling reaches him and he holds his breath to listen more closely. Fabric, leaves and… sniffling?

Was it… crying?

Ike quickly scurries back onto his knees but hesitates to part the branches again. He reaches out twice, before pushing the branches as far out of the way as he can to let the light reach whatever - or whoever - is hiding behind them.

It is a who and not a what that’s hunched over, trembling ever so slightly beneath a thick grimy hood. Whoever they are, they’re small, even smaller than Ike and he’s not exactly tall for an eleven year old.

He cocks his head to the side and tongues the gap in his teeth.

“Hey…” He says gently. The figure jumps, and whips around to stare at him with those round, red eyes wet with tears, “...A...are you ok?”

There’s no response, just quivering sleeve viciously rubbing at wet cheeks and a quiet hiccup.

Ike can barely make out his face beneath the hood, but it looks like a boy about his age, maybe a little younger - it’s hard to tell. It’s even harder to guess at what he could be doing alone in this castle, but he’s hardly one to talk. Maybe there were more people here like him and his father, and they were just a little lost.

And scared. 

“You can come out now,” Ike murmurs gently, “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

The boy shows no sign of moving. He simply continues to stare back with that wet and wary gaze like a cornered animal waiting for the inevitable. 

“Ok,” Ike lets the branches hide the boy again, “You don’t have to come out if you don’t want to. I can go get your family instead. Do you know where they are?” It’s an empty promise, if anything. Ike’s incredibly lost, and there’s absolutely no way he’d be able to find his way back to this exact courtyard… or even find his way out of this castle.

“...No,” The boy’s voice is hoarse and shaky, not from tears but from lack of use.

Ike isn’t sure what to make of that.

Instead, he crawls around the back of the bush and nudges a few branches aside. The boy scurries farther in, but stops when Ike offers him his hand and a childish smile.

“Then let’s go look for them together,” He says, smiling wider at the prospect of maybe making a new friend, “My name’s Ike! What’s yours?”

Red eyes dart between the outstretched hand, and Ike’s face again and again until finally, the boy reaches out to touch him -

\- and

Ike’s eyes open to nothing but darkness.

He’s disoriented, a little dizzy, and a little too warm despite not being beneath the blankets. He rubs his forehead as the post-sleep fog lifts and his eyes adjust to the dim light of the room.

There’s a gentle mumbling against his chest where he feels the warmest. He shifts his leg only to find it sliding against another, and he realizes rather belatedly that Soren is nuzzled quite comfortably against him.

He does his best to stifle a breathless laugh. For all his bluster and barbs, he was certainly affectionate in his sleep. 

...Although, Ike hadn’t meant to fall asleep. Soren had passed out sometime after Ike finished stitching up his back, waking only briefly when Ike lifted him up to carry him to bed. Exhaustion caught up with both of them and Ike must have collapsed on the bed beside him.

Carefully, Ike lifts his hand from Soren’s waist, gingerly brushes damp black hair away from his face and sighs deeply. 

It’s a shame to leave such a docile, affectionate Soren, especially when Ike has no idea if or when he’ll ever be able to see it again, but - he glances at the moon - he was likely due home hours ago. Father and Mist are surely worried. He should at least go explain the situation to them.

There’s mumbling again and Ike tries not to laugh as it tickles his collar bone.

But his heart nearly stops when he makes out the words -

“No more…” There’s a desperation in Soren’s voice that makes Ike’s blood run cold, “...please…” 

Ike pulls back so he can see the tears rolling across the bridge of Soren’s nose. He’s still mumbling but it’s incoherent sounds and strained whispered cries.

He pulls Soren closer, tangles his fingers in his hair and delicately kneads the base of his neck.

Father and Mist can wait for a little while longer, he thinks.

\-----

Reyson nearly jumps out of his chair at the sound of a loud crash coming from the floor above. He hisses and scowls at the ceiling and the dull thuds that follow. 

Two days Soren had slept. Two days of technical peace that Reyson spent cleaning the courtyard alongside the Furniture so as to remove any trace of petals, flowers and blood. Ike had been kind enough to move and bury the bodies of the men who fell victim to Soren’s teeth. Much to Reyson’s surprise, he hadn’t asked a single question.

Surely he had many…

Another loud thud followed by some not so muffled swearing from the upper floors had Reyson groaning and pressing his fingers firmly against his temple. Once the sun finally decided to show itself, Reyson was definitely going to find a tree a good distance away from the castle and spend the entire day in it, sleeping.

Micaiah hops onto the table, teacup in tow and pours him something hot and herbal. She doesn’t say anything, just smiles, sighs and heads back towards the kitchen. He supposes she hadn’t been able to sleep either, what with Soren obnoxiously venting his frustration all over his study. 

He lifts the cup to his lips, relishing the earthy, sweet scent of the steam and grinning slightly at the pink hue filtering in from a nearby window. 

It will be morning soon enough, and with morning comes a well-needed nap.

Faintly he can hear Stefan talking from the entryway, he pays it no mind until it starts to get closer and he rounds the corner into the parlor, Ike in tow.

“Ike,” Reyson says, quite honestly a little baffled by his early morning appearance, “What brings you here so… early?” Ike shrugs his rucksack off his back and sets it by one of the swayback chairs.

“I wanted to get back before he wakes up,” Ike said with a small smile.

There’s another loud bang, some swearing and the sound of shattered glass from upstairs.

Ike’s smile drops immediately, shoulders tense, weight shifted to the balls of his feet ready to bolt - but Reyson stops him.

“You’re a bit late for that,” He says, glancing out the window and counting the seconds until the sun officially rises, “He’s been up all night.”

Ike glances at the ceiling, then back to Reyson. His shoulders slouch a little seeing Reyson’s lack of concern for all the noise from the upper floors. 

“Is he… alright?” He asks, still making no move to sit down.

“Don’t worry about him,” Reyson takes another swallow of tea, “He gets like this sometimes when his… research isn’t cooperating.”

Reyson peers over his teacup, watching Ike carefully. He fully expects Ike to pick up on his subtle invitation for inquiries. Goddess knows he must have a head full of questions, and with Soren being rather obstinate these days, it seems unlikely Ike will get any answers from him. 

And Ike really can’t be left in the dark for much longer. They’re going to require his cooperation if Soren is to make any progress at all.

If Ike notices the invitation, he makes no note of it, instead opting to stare blankly upwards towards the direction of the noise in Soren’s study. 

“I’ll go check on him,” Ike exits the parlor before Reyson can even protest. He sinks deeper into his chair, gold morning light warming his skin as he rolls his eyes.

“So single minded,” He mutters as his fingers fade into long, white feathers, “Both of them.”

\-----

No, no, no.

It’s not right. Again.

It’s never right.

It hardly matters what he tries. It’s not as though any of the variables he introduces actually affect the outcome. 

Soren lets out a loud frustrated cry. His tail knocks over a nearby chair and it hits the floor with a crash. He braces himself against the table, staring furiously at the papers strewn about - formulas, runes, casting circles, diagrams, and countless notes scribbled on every inch.

What is he missing? 

He runs through the words again and again and again. Mutters them under his breath like the curse they are, hoping this time, this resuscitation will reveal something new - a loophole, a weakness…

Anything.

But he comes up empty handed. He’s out of ideas. The mice in the basin are dead as usual, dappled with blood on a bed of the tiniest flower petals. 

He was so certain it would work.

There’s a faint knock behind him, the door slightly ajar. He whirls around, snarling.

“What?!” He hisses venomously, hoping it might repel this uninvited visitor.

“Hey,” Ike says without flinching, “Good morning to you too.”

Soren’s stomach goes cold and explodes into a fluttery mess he’s certain shows on his face. He straightens his back, smooths out his robes and awkwardly twists the cords hanging from his waist between his fingers.

“I-Ike?!” He stutters, eyes wide and throat a little tight, “Wh...what are you… I-I wasn’t expecting… you...” He swallows uncomfortably, eyes darting between Ike and the basin in the middle of the room.

Ike just smiles at him and Soren’s heart swells like a balloon.

“And I wasn’t expecting you to be awake,” Ike looks around with casual interest at the bottles and books crammed into the shelves along every inch of available wallspace, before meeting Soren’s startled eyes and cocking an eyebrow in a playfully accusatory manner, “But then Reyson tells me you’ve been up all night.”

“O-oh,” Soren tucks a stray lock of hair behind his ear, “Yes, I… lost two days sleeping. I’m trying to make up for lost time.”

Ike nods slowly at him, brow still raised. He leans against the doorframe and crosses his arms.

“Uh huh,” Ike hums with a hint of lighthearted skepticism, “So what are you working on that’s so important you’ll stay up all night for it?”

“It’s nothing,” Soren replies a little too quickly, “Nothing important,” To the contrary, the work is incredibly important with millions of lives hanging in the balance, but Soren knows his methods are… questionable at best. 

He’d rather Ike not see them. 

“Great!” Ike pushes himself off the wall and walks towards Soren, “Then you’re free to come with me today, right?”

Soren blinks dumbly.

“Come with you?” He repeats slowly, “I don’t think that’s a good idea…”

“So what, you’re gonna keep working?” Ike tilts his head to the side.

“Yes,” Soren takes a step back against the table and leans into it, “I mean, I am rather busy at the moment.”

“But not with anything important,” Ike taunts with a small smirk. Soren looks up at him indignantly, feeling a bit cornered with Ike towering over him.

“Don’t twist my words,” Soren snaps, but his words lack any trace of malice.

“Is it twisting your words if I’m quoting you?” Ike moves a little too close. Soren can’t do anything but look up at him and swallow.

He opens his mouth to retort but a loud, long gurgling sound bubbles from his stomach instead.

Soren’s face immediately heats up and Ike bursts into genuine laughter.

“I wasn’t -” Soren stutters through his embarrassment, “That was just-”

“Alright, alright, that’s enough,” Ike says between short fits of laughter, “C’mon.”

In one smooth movement Ike loops an arm around Soren’s middle and hoists him over his shoulder. Soren lets out an indignant shriek of protest.

“Ike!” He hisses, “What are you doing? Put me down!”

“Not a chance,” Ike tightens his grip around Soren’s upper thigh and the sage jolts in surprise and fluster and something else he refuses to acknowledge that makes his heart race, “You’re taking the day off.”

“I’m what?!” Soren sputters, “I don’t have time for this, Ike, put me down! I have work to do!”

“And it can wait,” Ike closes the door behind them, Soren still dangling over his shoulder like a sack of dried beans, “And calm down, will you? You don’t have to have a heart attack over me dragging you to breakfast of all things.”

“By the goddess…” Soren whines into his hands, desperately trying to calm the pounding of his heart when he knows Ike can feel it against his shoulder.

\-----

“No,” Soren says, “Absolutely not.”

“Don’t be like that,” Ike tightens the cinch on Ragnell’s saddle, “It would take all day to walk there. Just get on.”

Soren backs away from the horse slowly with a deep frown.

“Perfect. I’ll just stay here then,” He mumbles.

“Oh no you won’t,” Ike grabs him by the wrist and tugs him back, “No more work. Today is for relaxation only, now stop being stubborn and let’s go.”

“No, you - let… go!” Soren grumbles through his teeth. Ike’s grip is too strong to pry off, but he can least flail around a bit, “I’m not riding your damn horse!”

Ragnell snorts in his general direction.

Ike tilts his head to the side and lightens his grip a bit, leaning in to get a closer look at Soren’s face. It’s a little too close for comfort, and for once Soren’s glad that his scales don’t change color the same way human skin does. He doesn’t need Ike commenting on flushed cheeks.

“...You can’t ride, can you?” Ike says after some consideration. 

“What?” Soren sputters, “That’s not-!” He averts his gaze and chews the inside of his cheek, “That’s not it at all.”

“Then what is it?” Ike straightens his back and Soren lets himself take a deep breath.

He digs the toe of his sandle into the dirt.

“It’s just… been a while. That’s all,” His voice is a little too quiet for the level of confidence he wanted to give, but Ike pays it no mind.

“That’s all?” Ike repeats with minor skepticism.

Soren kicks a small rock and twists his heel into the ground.

“...Well, I,” He swallows, “I didn’t have a… tail… back then.”

“Oh,” Soren can’t help feeling self conscious about the way Ike stares at his back end, “I forgot about that.”

Soren rolls his eyes. How very like him to be so completely unconcerned about the presence of an additional appendage.

He’s barely taken a breath before he finds himself literally swept off his feet and hoisted carefully onto Ragnell’s saddle. He tries to protest, but Ike already has one foot in the stirrup and one leg over Ragnell’s rump. Whatever dissenting words he had died in his throat the moment Ike gingerly lifts his tail and coils it over Soren’s lap.

“Does that hurt at all?” Ike’s warm breath hits Soren’s neck and it’s all he can do to stop himself from making an exceptionally strange noise in response.

“No,” Soren says a little too quickly and a little too airy, “It doesn’t.”

“Great,” Ike shifts in the saddle, pressing himself firmly against Soren’s back and reaches around him for the reins, “You good?”

No, not good. Soren is very not good, he thinks to himself. He stifles what he’s sure would have been a sharp squeal as Ike shifts against his back. 

His heart pounds loudly in his chest.

He has to get off this horse. There’s absolutely no way he’ll survive the ride there and back without spontaneously combusting from nerves and embarrassment. He already feels ten degrees too warm, and that’s before the morning dew has even lifted.

He feels Ike’s good natured chuckle vibrate against him and by the Goddess Soren is certain he’s going to slip right off the horse at this rate.

“You don’t have to be so nervous,” Ike says, flicking the reins and nudging Ragnell’s backside with his heels, “We’ll go slow. I promise.”

“I’m not… nervous,” Soren’s voice pitches just a bit too high as he clutches his tail to his chest.

“Mmhmm,” Ike hums, and Ragnell carries them into the forest. 

The entire ride is a blur to Soren. Between trying to focus on maintaining his balance and trying not to focus on a particularly warm package of flesh pressed against his backside as they bounce along their merry way, Soren is well and thoroughly distracted. He barely manages to listen to Ike’s sparse and casual conversations, only responding with noncommittal grunts and single syllable queries. Any and all distractions are welcome.

His heart can’t take much more of this close contact.

Thankfully, the ride is fairly quick, and Ike helps him dismount in a small clearing near a river. 

Of course Ike would bring him here. Even though he’s forgotten so much, it’s just like him to take Soren to his favorite place. Memories are such fickle things.

The clearing is sheltered and grassy with only one large tree hanging over a deep pool in the river. Flowers litter the open area, and a thick wall of black berry bushes line the far side where the sun shines the most.

He closes his eyes and breathes deep. They’re in season too. He can smell them, just a faint sweetness on the breeze. 

When he opens them again, Ike is standing nearby, head tilted to the side and smiling at him like a fascinated child. 

“What is it?” Soren asks, feeling a little self conscious.

“Nothing,” Ike’s smile widens, “You just seem happy.”

“Do I?” He quickly flattens the upturned corners of his mouth. He hadn’t realized he was smiling.

“Yeah,” Ike hoists the saddle off of Ragnell’s back to let her graze comfortably, “It’s nice. I like it.”

Like a match to tinder, Soren’s cheeks flare with heat although they don’t redden. He knows Ike doesn’t mean it that way, but he can’t help the way his heart hears the words and clings to them with a desperation Soren’s loath to admit he still has.

Which leads to that moment of panic - the idea that perhaps he shouldn’t have come, shouldn’t have let Ike wander freely in the castle, shouldn’t have spoken honestly with him, should have chased him away -

“You hungry?”

Soren’s shaken from his thoughts by a small grin and a cloth bundle in Ike’s hands.

“Yes,” He’s not actually hungry but food will give him something to do with his hands. He barely notices Ike’s change of expression as the two of them settle beneath the riverside tree and unpack their meal until he speaks up.

“You’re still not comfortable around me, are you?” Ike says it almost like an afterthought - or as something he hadn’t meant to say aloud. The way he avoids Soren’s gaze implies this, like he’s making a statement and not expecting a reply.

Soren hesitates, clumsily sets out a jar of rose jam and thick slices of fresh bread. He considers not replying but when he glances up their eyes meet and Soren’s not strong enough to look away.

“It’s not as simple as that,” Is what he settles on.

Ike falls back onto the grass with a soft thump.

“It never is with you, is it?” He sighs.

It isn’t. It definitely isn’t, Soren thinks to himself. Everything about his situation - his life - is complex. Some messy hash of tragedy and twisted irony crammed into one small, scaly body. He’s tried and failed so many times to explain himself and he’s simply… exhausted. 

So he says nothing, denies nothing, and sets himself to unpacking the rest of the food Ike brought, arranging and rearranging each item until it set just so on the bare grass.

The silence stays for so long that Soren begins to wonder if Ike has fallen asleep. Certainly wouldn’t be the first time, definitely wouldn’t be the last. 

He does wish he’d been able to grab a book at least. 

“Hey Soren?” Ike says startling Soren’s fourth attempt at repositioning the cutlery. He doesn’t trust himself to speak coherently, so he makes an encouraging noise instead and continues fiddling with their food, “Why did you pick me?”

Soren muffles a sharp intake of breath, and swallows.

“What?” It’s more of a whisper than a request for clarification, but Ike hears him and continues.

“Dad said you handpicked me to be your liaison,” He says slowly, like he’s still unsure of his question, “But I don’t get it… you say you don’t hate me, but you’re always so… jumpy around me that I just…” He takes a deep breath and struggles a bit to pick his words, “Why me? Why did you choose… me?”

There are so many things he could say, so many answers he could provide, but none of them come close to explaining the overwhelming layers of emotion that Soren experiences on an hourly basis just being close to Ike and how that lead to… where they are. 

Where does he even begin?

“I didn’t choose you… exactly,” Soren speaks barely above a whisper, not trusting himself to speak normally, “There was just… no choice… but you.”

A partial truth - a bare implication of their history, like the white vines and blood red flowers spiraling across his scales. 

Such things hold no meaning to this Ike. 

Soren clears his throat and speaks quickly before Ike can so much as open his mouth.

“You don’t have a blossom, Ike.”

Ike stares at him, owlishly.

“I… what…?” Ike props himself up on his elbows to get a better look at the sage.

“Everyone in Daein has one, whether they show symptoms or not,” Soren says, “But not you. I don’t react to you.” Again, it’s not the entire truth. The evidence is visible, plain as day, splattered red petals glittering against the black ridges that replaced his skin. Proof that there was a blossom - is a blossom - but it’s different from the rest. 

It doesn’t belong to Ike alone. 

Not anymore.

“Everyone has…” Ike repeats, “But what, what does that have to do with you? No, sorry, let me - um…” He sits up and presses his palm to his forehead, “Ah, shit, how do I…? Is it kind of like those bandits? The ones you uh…” Soren can’t help but appreciate Ike’s attempt at trying to be tactful - as poor as it may be, “...attacked? For their blossoms…? Is that it?”

“Yes, and no,” Soren says looking away towards the river, “It’s nothing to do with those bandits specifically. Just the Hanahaki - the blossoms.”

Ike grunts in frustration.

“Why are you so… ugh, why can’t you just say what you mean?” Ike releases an exasperated huff, “What’s so important about the blossoms anyway? Why are they so important to you?”

“It’s-” Soren starts.

“-Not that simple, I know, I got that already,” Ike rolls his eyes. 

Soren fixes him with a sharp stare. It’s a bit terrifying how well Ike reads him despite losing his memories over and over again. Perhaps some part of the mind never forgets. Something like, muscle memory; an intrinsic knowledge carved deep into one’s psyche. Not a memory exactly, but something else entirely.

Because that is what Soren was going to say. He was going to try to dissuade Ike from asking any more questions. That’s what he’s always done. Kept Ike at arm’s length, not to close, not too far. 

He’s avoided Ike’s inquiries time and time again. He’s pushed him away, given him false leads, half-truths, and kept as much of a distance as he possibly could. And yet, everytime Ike finds his way closer, needles his way through Soren’s defenses, rendering all his efforts useless.

So what if Soren just… gives in?

Let’s Ike ask what he likes? Gives him the answers he wants?

Would anything change? Would it make a difference? 

His pulse quickens at the prospect.

It’s not like he has much left to lose.

“...Actually,” He licks his lips nervously, internally frantic over his next set of moves. This is uncharted territory, “I was going to say, it’s easier if I just show you.”

And with that, the choice is made. He can’t take it back now.

He holds his breath.

It feels like an age before Ike props himself up on his elbows, interest piqued. Soren meets his gaze with apprehension, but he holds it long enough to swallow the growing lump in his throat.

“Show me…?” Ike tilts his head.

Soren stands, then turns to face Ike who’s still seated on the ground. He hesitates for a long moment, but finally holds his hand out to help Ike to his feet. Ike looks an odd mix of perplexed and thrilled at the gesture, clumsily reaching out to take it and nearly missing.

To his apparent delight, Soren doesn’t drop his hand when he’s fully righted. Instead he tugs it slightly and makes towards the riverside.

“I seem to recall that you were rather good at catching minnows, yes?” Soren glances at him over his shoulder.

“I mean, I was when I was a kid but… I don’t remember telling you that,” Ike says with a furrowed brow.

Soren’s mouth quirks up with a bitter fondness. It’s the only response Ike gets before he pulls him towards the riverbank.

Soren kneels at the water’s edge. He closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths - the first to calm his nerves, the rest to hone his focus. His hands splay out against the subtle ripples, magic prickling along the undersides of his fingers. In one swift motion he pushes downwards. The water, the rocks, and the sand indent, and as he whips his hands back up, they swirl, meld and lift, leaving two perfectly circular stone basins of water just above the surface.

Soren feels more than sees Ike’s eyes upon him, wide with awe at the magic he rarely gets to see. He supposes he should feel a bit proud at being able to impress Ike with such a simple trick, but there are more pressing things at hand.

“Put whatever you catch in these,” Soren says, gesturing to the stone basins. 

“Right,” Ike begins rolling up his sleeves, “So… how many do you want?”

“Half a dozen, I think,” Soren usually does this experiment with three or four, but those are mice, not fish. Minnows are quite small. They may not be as… illustrative as a mouse.

“Got it,” Ike shuffles off his boots and rolls up his pants to the knee, wriggling his toes against the rocks of the shallows, legs spread and hands hovering just above the water.

In spite of his nerves, Soren still feels a sense of nostalgic relief at the sight. How many hours had they spent as children catching minnows and salamanders at the riverside? 

It doesn’t take long for Ike to catch the needed six, and it’s only when Soren goes to isolate one in the second basin that he realizes he’s trembling uncontrollably. 

“Are you ok?” Ike asks gently. 

Soren looks up at him and against his better judgement gives him a quiet, “No.”

“Then let’s not-”

“I need you to watch carefully,” Soren says firmly, but not without traces of apprehension. He doesn’t wait for Ike’s affirmation. With a swift flick of his wrist, the water from one basin swirls into a bubble with a single minnow trapped inside, hovering in midair. He lowers it gently into its own basin - five minnows in one, and the sixth in the other.

And with the stage set, he breathes the words he knows so well. Ike leans in, perhaps to get a better look or to hear what Soren’s saying, but the spell takes only a few seconds.

Soren holds his breath.

Nothing happens at first. There’s just minnows swimming in confused circles and then -

It’s subtle. Tiny bubbles break the water’s surface on the basin with five. Only a few at first, but with every second there’s more and more then suddenly tiny white flecks join them. The flecks increase in number with every passing second, until one minnow spins and spins and spins and reels backwards as a tiny lotus blossom floats from its mouth.

A few seconds later, it floats to the surface, unmoving. Minnows are more delicate than mice, the analytical side of Soren’s brain notes as he watches the scene numbly.

“Soren… what…?” Ike’s words are trembling, awestruck and worried.

“Just watch,” Soren’s voice cracks.

As another minnow blossoms and floats to the surface, the isolated one begins to thrash and twist. It bashes its head against the side of the basin nearest the other repeatedly. Its body lengthens, fins stretch outward, scales flay out like thorns as it nearly triples in size. It leaps and splashes violently in the water, with a faint glint of teeth that were certainly not present before. 

Then in one swift motion it bursts from the water in an elegant arc and dives into the adjacent basin like a needle through silk. It swallows the first lotus whole, then rips out the throat of the nearest living minnow leaving a flood of white lotus petals behind as the water turns pink with blood.

One by one it attacks the remaining fish until the water is so clouded it’s difficult to see anything at all.

The water stills mere moments later. The small serpent floats to the top, motionless.

Soren stares at the basin with blurred vision.

Beside him, Ike sits transfixed.

What is he thinking? Does he understand what happened? Has he made the connections? 

Is he repulsed? 

Terrified?

Disgusted?

Soren can’t bear the silence.

“Ike,” He pleads weakly, “Say something,” he chews his bottom lip, “...please.”

Ike takes a deep, deep breath.

And exhales.

And suddenly Soren finds himself crushed beneath strong arms, a hot hand cradling the back of his head, and a rapidly beating heart against his cheek. His eyes sting from the tears threatening to fall. His fingers clutch at Ike’s tunic like tiny vices.

They stay like that for a long while before Ike speaks.

“Was that supposed to be you?” He asks.

Soren opens his mouth but nothing comes out. Instead he nods against Ike’s chest and hopes that’s enough. It seems like it is, because Ike leans closer and mumbles into Soren’s hair.

“You’ve been through a lot, huh?”

A mix between a breathless, bitter laugh and a sob escapes Soren’s throat. Then another and another until his entire body shakes with them. The anguish he’s repressed up until this moment bursts forth quietly, echoed in his white knuckled grip on Ike’s tunic and the weak slumping of his shoulders.

But Ike just holds him close, thumb massaging small circles against the base of one of his ears. There’s no whispered words of comfort - that’s not Ike’s style - and yet somehow their absence is even more reassuring to Soren. No false promises, no pity just… warmth and unwavering patience.

Ike continues to hold him tightly until Soren grows still and his breath falls soft and even. At which point, Soren is reluctant to part, too embarrassed at his sudden outburst to bring himself to look Ike in the eye.

“Sorry,” He mumbles. Ike loosen’s his hold on him, but Soren refuses to meet his gaze.

“Don’t be,” Ike places a hand on Soren’s shoulder, “I get it.”

Soren finds himself smiling at the grass despite himself. 

And for a while, they stay like that, listening to the sound of the river.

Soren is just about to suggest they return to the tree for breakfast when he’s unceremoniously swept off his feet, cradled in Ike’s arms like an oversized bag of beans.

“Ike!?” Soren sputters indignantly, “What on earth-?”

Ike smirks down at him, wading into the water.

“Change of plans,” He says, and promptly drops Soren in the waist-deep pool with a satisfying splash.

Spitting water and caught somewhere between shocked and furious, Soren rights himself, only to slosh backwards when Ike crouches beside him, soaked to his stomach and smiling.

“What are you doing?” Soren asks incredulously.

“Change of plans,” Ike says again, “I was going to just spend the morning here but hey, look, we’re soaked,” He laughs good naturedly, “So we should probably wait for our clothes to dry. Maybe take a nap, who knows?”

A small huff of disbelief escape Soren’s curled lips.

“That was completely uncalled for,” He says with a rare playful lilt in his voice, drawing back one hand on the water and hurling an enormous wave at Ike.

Ike wipes his dripping face and blows his bangs away from his eyes.

“So was that,” He laughs, and offers his hand to Soren to help him stand, “But worth it.”

Soren beams brightly at him, and takes his hand.

As Ike pulls him to his feet, he slips and barely manages to catch Soren as they fall back into the water with a loud splash.

And burst out laughing.

\-----

Their clothes are still a little damp when they mount Ragnell and head back to the castle. Soren can hardly bring himself to care. He feels too light, too peaceful to let something so small capture his attention. 

He hasn’t felt this free since he was a child. 

He’s missed it. So much.

Even Ike, whose idea of a smile is a slight twitch at the edges of his mouth, now grins broadly every time Soren looks at him. 

In sharp contrast to the ride they shared in the morning, their conversations have quickly dissolved into snappy banter, trading playful taunts and quips so easily that it feels most unnatural when they stop. Thus, the ride back to the castle feels short and despite the stiffness in the base of his tail, Soren is very reluctant to dismount.

When Ike holds out his hand to help Soren dismount, Soren has to bite his lip to stop from smiling. His fingertips are still stained pink from all the blackberries they’d picked earlier, as is a large portion of his left cheek where Soren smashed a few trying to get Ike to eat a berry he had stuffed with a portion of sausage.

His grip lingers on Soren’s hand for far too long to be accidental. Reluctant to let go, perhaps? 

Soren doesn’t dare assume. 

“Ike,” Soren says, weirdly serious for the mood set by their earlier banter. Ike tilts his head just a bit in response, “Thank you for today.”

“Anytime,” Ike says, “I mean it. Literally any time. I…uh...” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly and sighs.

“You...?” Soren prompts. Ike gives a small chuckle.

“I don’t know much about magic… or curses,” He says, giving Soren’s hand a small squeeze, “I don’t have any talent for medicine or botany but… I still want to help you,” He glances up looking a little embarrassed, “Ahhh, it didn’t really feel like I was helping at all until today. Felt like I was only bringing you more work.”

Soren swallows so hard his heart is forced back into his chest, “What do you mean?”

Ike smiles at him, softly.

“Well, you look… better?” He says, unsure of his words but not their meaning, “I just thought that if this is all I can do, you know, take you out places and help get your mind off of things for a while, then… That’s what I want to do.”

“Ike…”

“Look, I know you have a lot of responsibilities and an entire country demanding your attention but maybe, for a little bit, you can just be you. With me. You know?” Ike leans down just slightly so they’re just a tiny bit closer in height, “Is that ok?”

Soren takes a sharp breath, not realizing he’d been holding it. 

“Y-yes,” He clears his throat and twists his hair between his ear and horn, “You can. That’s, um, that’s perfectly fine.”

Ike lets go of Soren’s hands with a smile so warm he feels as though his entire body is melting.

“Great,” He opens his mouth to say something else, but his eyes widen and he slams his fist against his palm, “Oh! Right, I almost forgot,” He darts towards Ragnell and rummages through one of the saddle bags, emerging a few moments later with a thick leather bound book. He holds it out, “I got you something.”

“Got me something? But… why?” Soren’s confusion causes his brows to furrow. He turns the book over. He reads the title twice before it registers exactly what he’s been given. 

The book trembles in his hands.

“Uh well,” Ike rubs his neck again, “I think you ordered it. Or I ordered it. Or the last liaison did. Anyway, it’s for you. I uh, take it you like it?”

Soren is completely speechless, eyes stinging with tears of the best variety. Ike has no idea what he’s just delivered - the implications of what this book could mean for them - for Daein.

“Yes,” Soren barely manages a grateful whisper, “Yes, I… thank you.”

“Glad you like it,” He breathes an accomplished sigh, “If you need anything else, just ask, ok?”

“I will,” Soren tears his eyes away from the book, and Ike catches his gaze.

They stay like that for a while, the sun disappearing behind the trees.

Ike clears his throat.

“Uh, so I uh… Guess I should be going,” He says.

“...Did you want to stay for dinner?” The words rush out of Soren’s mouth faster than he can process them.

“I do, but next time. Dad and Mist are expecting me at home tonight,” Ike heaves himself over Ragnell’s back and picks up the reins, “But I’ll be back tomorrow!” he adds hastily.

Soren chuckles in spite of himself.

“Ok. I’ll see you then,” He says.

“Yeah. See you then,” Ike echoes. He clicks his tongue and Ragnell carries him into the forest.

He looks back over his shoulder twice. Soren waves at him the second time.

Book clutched to his chest, Soren takes one long, deep contended breath. Behind him there’s a flicker of white light followed by a friendly nudge at his shoulder.

“Who is this and where did my grumpy friend disappear to?” Reyson teases.

“Shut up,” The words have no bite to them. Soren’s in far too good a mood to snip at anyone, let alone Reyson.

“Hm,” Reyson hums, “I take it today went well?”

“I thought I lost this,” Soren traces the worn leather cover with his fingertips. A familiar title in faded flaking white letters embossed on the surface. After the fire in the library, he never believed he’d ever lay his eyes on another copy. When Ike had told him he’d look for it, Soren certainly hadn’t believed he’d actually find it, “And yet, here it is,” The scent of old leather and ink fills his lungs.

“Ike really came through for us,” Reyson says, glancing over the title.

“Yes,” Soren says with a melancholic tremor, “He always does.”

Reyson smiles sadly.

“Then why do you always push him away?” He asks.

“...Do you think things will turn out differently if I don’t?” A small chill runs through Soren’s body. 

Reyson rolls his eyes and sighs, then crosses his arms and shifts his weight to one side. Soren prepares himself for a long speech - maybe a lecture. Reyson quite likes to give those.

Instead he simply says, “Yes, I do,” And leaves it at that.

Soren swallows, looks up at Reyson with a little more visible vulnerability than he’s normally comfortable with showing. He knows his friend is right. All these years he’s only been running away, keeping Ike at a comfortable distance. Never telling him the truth, but never truly letting go of him either.

And what good has it done? He’s still no closer to breaking his curse. The people of Daein still suffer the same as they did all those years ago. 

His heart still breaks everytime Ike forgets him.

“Then…” He hesitates, “I suppose trying something different… would be good.”

Reyson lays a hand on Soren’s shoulder and smiles warmly.

“Agreed,” He says, “You can’t lose sight of what’s most important.”

Soren can’t help but feel there’s another meaning to Reyson’s words…

...But they can wait for another day.

\-----

“Ike! Where are you going?” Greil shouts from the doorway.

Ike pauses in tightening the cinch on Ragnell’s saddle. 

“Um,” He says dumbly, “I’m going to see So-I mean, the Sage…?”

“Not today,” Greil grunts, “Unpack that horse. We leave in a few minutes.”

“Leave? For where?” Ike shouts after his father, but he’s already disappeared back into the house. 

He spends a minute debating whether or not to just hop on Ragnell’s back and leave anyway - it’s not like his father will chase him down - but ultimately resigns himself to a day spent outside of Soren’s company.

He doesn’t dwell on that thought for long. It leads down a dangerous line of thinking that he’s not sure he’s ready to face yet. 

Emotional intelligence isn’t exactly his strength. He’d much rather just take advantage of things as they happen than overthink them in the space between.

Begrudgingly, he de-saddles Ragnell and gathers his things. His father is waiting for him at the front gate when he finishes. He looks him up and down, nodding when he deems his son appropriately prepared.

“Good, you brought your sword. Let’s go,” Greil walks swiftly down the dirt path towards the town harbor, leaving Ike to jog a little to catch up.

“...Why do I need my sword?” Ike asks cautiously.

“It’s mostly for show,” Greil explains, nodding his head towards the people who greet them as they pass by, “With any luck, we won’t need weapons, but it’s best to be prepared.”

“Dad, where are we going?” Ike waves at a couple people he recognizes, but keeps his voice hushed and his face stoic.

“We’re just… meeting a new arrival,” Greil says as the harbor comes into view. 

“A new arrival in Daein…?” Ike scowls in confusion, “Do they not know we’re a plague town?”

“They know,” Greil grunts, “That’s why they’re here.”

Ike wants to ask more questions, but as the sun burns through the morning fog and an anchored ship flying a familiar black flag peeks out from the middle of the harbor, he swallows them. 

It’s not exactly how he planned on spending his morning.

\-----

Ike hates boats, and ships are just big boats. Really big boats. He’s been on board the pirate ship for no less than three minutes and he already feels sick to his stomach. Internally, he wishes his father the best of luck if a fight breaks out because Ike’s not sure he’d be able to confidently swing his sword around a rocking deck without retching.

The crew doesn’t seem hostile, in any case. Shouting is quite normal on ships as it’s the only way to communicate without having to run back and forth along the length of the ship. Only a select few are carrying weapons, but they’re comfortably sheathed. 

His father seems a bit irritated, but not anxious. That’s a good sign overall. Ike can probably afford to relax a bit.

Thankfully they’re not kept waiting long. A young, sharp-eyed man with a top-knot escorts them to the Captain’s Quarters with a cheerful grin, and quickly shuts the door behind him.

The morning light coming in from the cabin windows is harsh, reflecting off the sea and casting a harsh shadow on the man Ike assumes to be the captain. Even then, Ike can tell he’s built thick, taller than both he and his father, with hair haphazardly brushed back and rarely cut.

“Greil!” The captain’s voice reminds him a lot of his father’s - deep, brusque, yet warm and friendly. Feels like an odd thing to say about a pirate, “It’s good to see you.”

...Although maybe Ike should be focusing more on the fact that his father seems to already be acquainted with this Pirate captain.

“Tibarn,” Greil lets out a troubled sigh, “I wish I could say the same of you.”

The pirate captain - or Tibarn, as Ike’s come to learn - laughs good naturedly and steps away from the window. His clothing hangs carelessly on heavily muscled limbs, an open collar, and a series of feathered trinkets hanging from his ear and belt. All things considered he seems quite friendly - although the thick scar across his nose and cheek imply a rather violent history.

“Relax, I’m not here to cause any trouble,” He leans against the dusty desk in the middle of the room.

“Then what exactly are you here for?” Greil folds his arms across his chest, “You know we’re no longer a wealthy country. What could you possibly want from a plague town?”

Tibarn carelessly waves his hand.

“We’re not here for anything,” He says with a lopsided grind, “We’re just escorting our client to wherever she wants to go, and it just so happens she wants to go to Nevassa.”

Ike’s eyebrow raises in tandem with his father’s. What on earth would someone want in Nevassa? Some merchants stop by once and a while to trade for Nevassan craftsmanship which is exceedingly rare these days in other countries, but it’s nothing worth making a special trip for. Especially with the dangers that come from exposure to the Hanahaki.

“You’re requesting admission for your client then, is that it?” Greil grunts out, not entirely satisfied with Tibarn’s explanation thus far.

“And a few of my men yes,” Tibarn nods, “Don’t think of us as pirates, think of us as… Mercenaries. And we won’t get paid if we cause any trouble. That’s in the contract.”

Greil pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs.

“...And who is this mysterious client of yours?” He asks, sounding more tired than usual.

Tibarn opens his mouth to respond when a shadow interrupts him from the far corner of the room.

“That would be me,” Ike startles - which does nothing for the state of his stomach - at the new voice. It comes from a woman, tall, slender, and cloaked entirely in black. He can’t make out her face very well, but something about the way her hooded figure is clothed reminds him a bit of the first time he met Soren.

His father on the other hand, seems to recognize her.

“Lady Almedha!” Greil exclaims with breathless shock, “Wh- What are you doing here?!”

“It’s been a long time, Gawain,” Almedha’s voice holds a deceptive amount of power despite it’s soft tone. Ike wonders if she’s a noblewoman of some stature, “And this must be your son? Ike, was it? You’ve certainly grown since I last saw you.”

Ike’s mind explodes with questions about this woman he can’t remember, but his father is quicker.

“My lady, I mean no disrespect but your presence here is extremely unexpected. If your father knew about this-”

“My father knows nothing,” Almedha snarls back. She waits for the men to fall completely silent before she continues on, calmly, “And I would like to keep it that way. I would quite like to enjoy my visit to Nevassa in relative peace. I’m sure I can count on you to be… discreet?”

She reminds Ike of a frightened snake, lashing out then swiftly reverting to its previous docile state.

Greil is quiet for almost a full minute, as if he’s having some silent debate with the woman who has him pinned beneath her sharp gaze.

Finally, he relents.

“...I cannot deny you that, my Lady,” Greil says somberly, “But I would advise you not to linger long.”

She nods and glances at Tibarn who shrugs back.

“We’ll stay for about a month,” She says, “During which time I would prefer to stay on land with a few of my escorts. Is that acceptable?”

“...I’ll have the tavernmaster prepare the detached house for you,” He says with a subtle bow.

“Good,” She says, “We’ll arrive on shore at dusk. There will be less fuss that way. Have the rooms ready by then.”

Greil and Tibarn share a knowing glance before Greil opens the door to leave. Taking that to be his cue to follow, Ike swallows his seasickness for a moment and glances over his shoulder.

“It was nice to meet you both,” He says. He thinks that’s the right thing to say in this situation, but the surprised look on Almedha’s veiled face and Tibarn’s boisterous laugh suggests otherwise. 

He doesn’t dwell on it. Priority one is getting back to shore.

Then he can ask questions.


	5. Leaves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while but I've finally got a damn good plan! I swear there are ONLY TWO CHAPTERS LEFT (Buds and Blossoms - after that I'm out of flowering plant parts so that HAS to be the end lmao).
> 
> This is mostly a chapter in which the... lore(?) gets expanded upon. And we start to add some spice. Just a tiny bit.
> 
> People who come here for the porny tags be like "WHERE MUH SECKS AT???" 
> 
> Patience, patience. I'm the slowest of the burns.
> 
> (also I'm sorry in advance - this is my least edited chapter but I've made peace with that because I think y'all are far more interested in more content rather than my obsessively edited versions. I can do those later if I wanna)

Ike does not get to ask any questions. 

Before he can so much as open his mouth, he’s already being roped into helping the local innkeeper clean and prepare the entire second floor of the Inn for Almeda and a select few of Tibarn’s men - something like a personal detail while the rest of the pirates are allowed to come to shore during the day, but return to the ship at night.

By dusk he’s unloading their luggage and rushing to fetch whatever necessities the new guests require, finally collapsing onto a wooden bench at the tavern at Tibarn’s invitation.

There are four of them at the table including Ike - Tibarn’s aides sit on either side of him while Ike maintains an entire side of the table to himself. Seems a little odd given Tibarn’s large size that they would opt to not give him more space… but then again, Ike’s a fairly large guy himself. While he might not be quite the height of the pirate captain, he could probably hold his own arm wrestling against him if given the chance.

The aides look normal enough. One is rather small - around Soren’s height - narrow eyes and an unreadable grin, hair long but twisted neatly atop his head in a small bun. The other is around Ike’s height, maybe a little taller, but leaner, stone-faced with a pronounced nose and ears angled just a little farther away from the skull than usual with short slicked-back hair. Both would look a bit out of place next to their giant of a captain if not for the ferocious manner in which all three of them devour the food on their plates. It’s the kind of table manners Ike would love to emulate himself, but he can see his father seated with Almedha at a table across the room, and he doesn’t fancy having a fork hurled at him with the force of an expertly docked arrow.

“She’s a little too old for you, kid,” The grinning aide on Tibarn’s left snorts. 

“Hmf?” Ike grunts through a mouth stuffed with chicken, genuinely confused at the playful rib. 

“Ahh, lay off the kid, Janaff! There’s no harm in lookin’ at a pretty face,” Tibarn chuckles, then quickly adds, “She’s definitely too old for you though, kid. A widow too.”

Ike squints at the three of them.

“...who are you talking about?” He asks.

“Almedha,” The sullen aide says. His voice is quiet, but somehow carries well in the raucous of the dining room.

“Almed...what?!” Ike sputters, “Where did you get  _ that _ idea?”

“You’ve been sneakin’ glances all day,” Jannaff’s grin widens as he brandishes a meatless bone at Ike, “Just didn’t want you gettin’ any weird ideas about our client.”

“Idea…? I wasn’t-!” Ike lets out a frustrated sigh, “Yeah, ok I’ve been looking at her but that’s because she reminds me of someone I know.” And she does. It’s not as though they look alike exactly, but there’s something about her bearing, the way she tilts her head and quirks her brow that reminds him so much of Soren. 

“Ah?” The size of Tibarn’s grin despite his cheeks being stuffed with meat is impressive, “She must be a real looker then.”

Something twists inside of Ike at the thought of Soren being a…  _ looker _ . It feels odd - not unpleasant - but odd to think of him in those terms, although it’s a little weirder to realize that Tibarn sees Almedha in that light.

In any case, Soren’s not a looker, at least not in the way Ike thinks Tibarn meant it. Surely he meant ‘pretty’ or ‘beautiful’ or maybe even ‘handsome’ but Ike can’t really think of Soren that way. He definitely likes the way he looks. He appreciates the delicate curve of his jawline, the odd tilt in the corner of his mouth, how his ears are just a little on the small side, and how-

How… does one describe the kind of…  _ appreciation  _ Ike has for him in just one word? 

“I don’t know about that,” Ike loads his fork up with his mash, “I like his face. Does that make him a ‘looker’?”

There’s a brief moment of silence followed by an eruption of uncontrolled laughter from across the table from both Janaff and Tibarn. Ulki - the stone-faced aide - looks perplexed and only faintly amused.

Tibarn’s shoulders continue to shake a bit as his laughter dies, replaced by a small grin and a fist on the table.

“Ike my boy, I had you all wrong,” And despite the mirth in his voice his unexpected apology does sound sincere - although Ike’s not completely sure it’s an apology, “But I get it now. You’re a bit of a late bloomer.”

Ike frowns at the word choice but chooses not to comment.

“Well anyway,” He shovels some more roasted vegetables in his mouth, “She seems to know me, but I can’t remember meeting her at all, and I get the feeling dad’s not going to answer any questions sooo… I’ve just been thinking. That’s it.”

Tibarn hums into his mug of beer.

“That’s probably a good thing,” The quiet aide mumbles.

“Ulki!” Janaff chides from across Tibarn’s plate. Ulki simply shrugs in response.

“Huh?” Ike blinks.

Tibarn sighs and leans across the table, voice low and a little too serious.

“Listen kid,” He says, “If your father wants to keep you in the dark, you stay there. Almedha isn’t a bad person she’s just… let’s just say gettin’ involved with her, no matter how little, will get you in a lot of trouble.”

“...Why?” Ike can’t imagine why simply being acquainted with a person could be problematic.

But then he thinks about Soren and his condition and changes his mind.

“Anyway,” Tibarn leans back and picks up his mug again, “We’re only here for a month or so while she’s out lookin’ for whatever it is she’s lookin’ for.”

“You don’t know what it is?” Ike asks.

“Nope. Don’t care either,” Tibarn takes a big swig and slams the mug back on the table, “We fulfill the contract, we get paid. That’s pretty much it.”

“So… what are you guys going to do while she’s out… uh, looking?”

“Who knows? Relax, drink the place dry, maybe treat it like an extended vacation. Oh, and maybe pay a visit to that sage of yours. I have some things I’d like to ask him.”

“Our sage doesn’t take visitors,” Ike says quickly, “And he doesn’t take commissions either.”

Tibarn crosses his arms and frowns.

“No visitors?” He repeats, “ _ And _ no commissions? What kind of sage is that?”

“The kind that’s trying to keep this country alive,” Ike sets his fork down.

Tibarn chews the inside of his cheek while Janaff and Ulki exchange glances.

“I see,” He brushes some hair away from his face, “Well, nothin’ for it. We’ll make due without him.”

Ike stares at the trio, a little taken aback by how quickly they surrendered.

“...Really?” He’s not entirely convinced of their sincerity, however.

“Hm? Yeah, really,” Tibarn chuckles good naturedly as he calls for another round, “Almedha’s a pretty skilled mage herself, but we thought it might speed things up if she had some help. But you’re right - your sage should be focusing on Daein’s issues. We can just do things the old fashioned way.”

Ike sits in stunned silence. Somehow he’d been expecting Tibarn to try to strong arm him into letting him meet the sage in the same way Petrine had - possibly with sinister motives. Now faced with the reality of ethical pirates, Ike’s not quite sure what to think.

But there is one thing that springs to mind.

“Almedha is a mage?” He asks.

“I thought you were just kidding before, but you really don’t remember, do ya kid?” Tiban looks genuinely surprised, “I know you were young so I didn’t expect you to remember her face but I at least expected you to recognize the name of the Queen of Daein-”

“The  _ what!?” _ Ike nearly shrieks.

“The Queen of Daein,” Tibarn repeats a little slower and a bit quieter so as not to draw attention, “Maybe you never talked with her, but your father was captain of her personal guard. You used to play with her son. You’ve definitely seen her before.”

Ike’s mind reels from the onslaught of new information. Queen? Personal guard?  _ Son?! _ That would mean there was a Prince of Daein at one point - someone he knew, played with as a child…

…

Ike swallows hard. 

It couldn’t be…

But it would explain so much.

“How do you know this?” He tries to keep a straight face, but it’s hard. His legs are shaking beneath the table.

“No need to get suspicious. It’s not a secret,” Tibarn says as a new mug of bear gets swapped for his empty one, “Ya see, I used to be a trainee for the personal guard of the Serenes royal family. As the rookie, I was always the one to accompany our youngest prince. He was pretty close with prince Pelleas - uh, Almedha’s kid.”

“Pelleas…” Ike repeats the name as nothing more than a single breath. It doesn’t sound familiar, “Wait, you were working for the Serences royal family?” Tibarn nods behind his mug, “...But you’re a pirate…?”

There’s a bit of an awkward silence. Janaff clears his throat to break it and forces a smile.

“Wow, you guys really are isolated out here, aren’t you?” He says, “Five years ago, we were invaded by a former ally. They set fire to the capitol and, well…”

“We’ve been drifting ever since.” Ulki finishes.

Tibarn let’s out a big sigh.

“We’ve been lookin’ for a new island to call home. Until then, those of us who survived live on ships,” He chuckles, “I guess you could call us a whole nation of pirates.”

“Oh…” Ike looks down at the table, “I’m… sorry. I didn’t know.”

“You were young,” Tibarn smiles wistfully, “Don’t worry about it.”

“Right…” Ike looks down at his empty plate. He never knows what to say in situations like these. He’s rubbish at consoling people - he always ends up feeling disingenuous. 

The rest of the pirates seize that exact moment with a call for a song, and suddenly the dining hall erupts with the sound of drunken sea shanties and laughter. Tibarn immediately stands, raises his mug and joins in. Janaff and Ulki follow suit, leaving Ike alone at their table.

He catches sight of his father and Almedha from across the room. Neither look particularly enthused by the impromptu performance the pirates are putting on, and they quickly excuse themselves to continue their conversation.

As they leave, Ike can’t help but compare Almadha’s movements and gestures to those of Soren. 

\-----

The forest is pitch black with only small splotches of light where the moon peeks through. It lights their path as the trees blur past them. 

His lungs burn, and his legs ache but he can’t stop now. 

Not yet. They’re not safe yet.

He can hear the screams of the mob in the distance. He can’t make out the words, but he knows instinctively what they’re saying - what they’re chanting.

His palm is sweaty so he tightens his hold on the wrist of the boy he’s pulling along, stumbling over roots and rocks and narrowly avoiding the trees that seem to randomly appear in the dark.

“Ike,” The boy gasps behind him, “I can’t…”

Ike slows and turns to catch his companion, gasping for breath and trembling. 

“It’s ok,” Ike whispers between forcibly stifled breaths, “It’s ok. They’re not gonna find you. I promise.”

The boy begins to shake, knees buckling and it’s all Ike can do to keep him upright.

“C’mon,” He urges. The voices are getting louder, “We have to go!”

“I can’t…” The boy’s voice cracks and Ike realizes that he’s crying, “Ike I… I  _ killed _ him… I...”

He falls to his knees and Ike follows him down, still holding onto his wrists.

“You don’t know that,” Ike says hastily, biting back the sting in his eyes, “You took his flower, you  _ helped  _ him-”

“I didn’t!” Wide red eyes soaked with tears snap upwards at him, “Help… anyone… I…”

The voices are getting too close for comfort. 

Ike starts to panic.

“There’s still time!” He hisses, heart racing as the glow of torches bleed through a sea of black trees, “Dad’s not dead, we can still help him! But we have to go! Now!” He tugs at the boy’s wrists but he doesn’t move.

“It’s too late for that, Ike,” The boy holds out the hand that’s clutching a limp blood soaked dahlia, “It’s already wilting.”

“ _ Please _ ,” Ike begs and bites back his own tears, “We can… we can take care of the flower later,” His father’s flower, “Right now we have to  _ go! _ ”

The boy sniffs and nods. He lets himself be hoisted up by his wrists, and again they’re running -

\-----

Ike falls to the floor with a loud thud.

It’s certainly not the first time he’s fallen out of bed but it’s still annoying.

His head hurts, so he presses his palm against it and stumbles groggily to his feet. Collapsing haphazardly into his pillow, he lets out a deep sigh that slowly morphs into a groan.

For once he’d like to have a night without the vividly stressful dreams, thank you very much. They’ve been getting worse as of late and it’s really cutting into his sleep.

Cool night air blows across his back and a few deep breaths later he’s asleep again.

He dreams again of scarlet eyes, only this time they’re not crying.

\-----

It’s a few days before he’s free again. Ike’s seen Soren within that time but only briefly during the treatment of a blossomed patient. While a dozen questions burned his throat, he couldn’t bring himself to ask any of them. Not when Soren was leaning against him, breathing heavily from exertion and on the verge of collapse. 

But it’s then when Ike notices a shift in Soren’s behavior. Instead of relying on Reyson after extracting a blossom, he allows Ike to assist him instead while Reyson is - suspiciously - absent or at least watching from a deliberate distance.

Once he’s handed off the extracted blossom to one of his servants, he collapses and somehow Ike is the one to carry him back to his room instead of Reyson.

It feels odd. Like when a stray cat decides to stop hissing at you in favor of constantly kneading your chest and purring. As he lays Soren back on his bed and pulls the blankets over him, Ike finds himself standing over him longer than he should just… watching his chest rise and fall. 

He lets his fingers graze Soren’s cheek.

It sends sparks through him, and he spends the rest of the night staring at his bedroom ceiling wondering why his stomach keeps doing these little backflips into this throat.

Sleep doesn’t come for him.

So as his free day finally arrives, Ike sets out towards the castle intent on getting some answers to his questions… even if he hasn’t properly sorted through his thoughts yet.

In fact, he’s not even sure what he wants to ask Soren - or if he should ask him anything at all. Maybe it would be best to wait, but Ike’s not exactly good at being patient, nor is he certain that waiting will bring him any more clarity. 

And the little things niggle in the back of his mind.

Like that striking resemblance between Soren and Almedha. It’s not explicit but there’s enough physical similarities in bearing and demeanor that Ike cannot unsee it. Plus, she had a son who should be - Ike assumes - around Soren’s age, and although he went by the name of Pelleas, it doesn’t completely eliminate the candidacy of someone using another name. A name is only what someone calls you, after all. 

And she used to live at the palace before the end of the Mad King’s war ten years prior which lines up with roughly how long Soren has been isolated in that same palace for that same period of time. That doesn’t immediately mark him as royalty - he could be the son of a royal sage who stayed behind once the castle was abandoned, or a traveling sage that took up residence in the castle around that time - but alongside the rest of the evidence, it definitely feels suspicious.

Besides, if he wasn’t of any notable standing, then why curse Soren alongside the rest of Daein? He would have been a child. A child! 

What sort of feelings would drive someone to do such a thing?

Or… is it possible that Soren cast the curse himself?

Ike shakes his head. Of course not. Even if it was an accident, Soren would have said something. Ike’s confident enough in Soren to know that he’d much rather withhold pieces of the puzzle than lie. And he told Ike that he knew the one who laid the curse but wasn’t able to get to him. Someone who hated Daein with everything they had. That couldn’t be Soren, or else why go through all the physical pain trying to save those people who blossom? He could just let them die and still pursue his research in breaking the curse for his own good.

Ike’s certain the Hanahaki didn’t come from Soren.

Although that still leaves the issue surrounding Soren as a possible prince - and not just any prince, but the prince of Daein - son of Almedha and the Mad King, the rightful heir to the throne of a rotting kingdom.

Ike doesn’t quite know what to do with that thought.

He absentmindedly dismounts Ragnell, quickly greeting Micaiah in the front hall as he heads up the stairs to the west wing two steps at a time.

Two knocks on the door of Soren’s study before he pushes the slightly ajar door open. The sage is bent over a book, furiously scribbling on a stray sheet of paper with a worn quill, more papers littered across the window seat he’s perched in. Ike leans against the doorframe and smiles fondly.

“This a good time for a break?” He says casually, like they’ve known each other for years. 

Soren doesn’t startle this time. Instead his quill stops and he turns towards the door, backlit by the window…

He smiles.

And Ike’s heart stutters.

“Yes, Ike. Good morning,” Soren says.

Just like that, Ike decides to forgo asking any of his previously intended questions. 

First priority is investigating why his heart keeps fluttering like a small flock of birds whenever Soren looks at him.

\-----

“You’ve been working with pirates…?” Soren’s perplexed look draws a small laugh out of Ike.

“Don’t worry, they seem like good people,” Ike pulls his fishing rod back and flicks the line out into the deepest part of the river. Soren frowns from his spot crouching at the water’s edge. His tail twitches uneasily.

“Good people don’t resort to piracy,” He grumbles. He cups his hands into the water, scooping up a single minnow and depositing it in one of the jars beside him. 

“They might, you never know,” Ike jiggles the line a little, “People do things they’re not proud of when they’re desperate.”

Soren hums in thought.

“I suppose so,” He says, leaning back to sit on the riverbank properly.

“Oh? What’s this?” Ike peers over his shoulder, “Is Soren admitting I’m right about something?” Soren rolls his eyes, grinning as splashes Ike from shore, “Hey! Cut it out!”

“I think you’ve got a bite,” Soren says as the rod nearly jerks from Ike’s grasp, “Hurry up, it’ll rain soon.”

“What?” Ike tugs at the line and reels in the slack, “It’s not even cloudy!”

“Ike, the fish-”

“Ah crap!”

After a brief back and forth, Ike wades back to shore with his latest catch in tow. He adds it to the basket with the others alongside Soren’s jars of minnows. 

“Hey, so, what do you know about Serenes?” Ike asks while he pulls on his boots and clicks his tongue to get Ragnell’s attention.

“Well that was random,” Soren quicks a brow at him and stands, “But I know a fair bit, actually. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious,” He says quickly. He probably shouldn’t tell Soren that it’s related to the Pirates. I would only worry him, “Heard some people talking about it, but I’ve never been… well obviously, I don’t think I’ve ever left Daein, but it sounded interesting.”

“Unfortunately for you, I’ve rarely left Daein either,” Soren shoots him a small smirk as Ragnell trots towards them, “But if you’re really that curious about it, you should ask Reyson.”

“Reyson?” He lifts Soren into the saddle, then hoists himself up behind him, “Why?”

“That’s where he’s from,” Soren says, “Everything I know about the place comes from him.”

“Oh…” That’s certainly an odd coincidence, what with Reyson and the pirates being from the same country, “Uh… How long has he been here?”

“If that’s your way of asking whether or not he knows about the invasion, the answer is yes, he knows,” Soren sighs, “So long as you don’t ask about that incident specifically, it’s not a sensitive topic.”

“Right,” Ike swallows. Perhaps he shouldn’t get involved. There may be a good reason that Reyson is here instead of on the ships with the rest of the Serenes citizenry. 

But then again, Reyson also spends half his day as a bird. It’s possible he wouldn’t want anyone else to know about his… condition? It might be embarrassing like when someone rips their pants and no one tells them… or something. 

But what if there’s someone he knows among the pirates? He should at least let him know that there are people from his homeland nearby right? 

Maybe he should get Soren to do it. Soren knows Reyson better than Ike does. He may not have a positive opinion of pirates, but still. 

He squeezes his knees against Ragnell’s flanks and sets off for the castle.

Thunder rumbles behind them.

\-----

They return to the castle soaking wet. Ragnell is tucked safely in the stables, while Soren looks for towels in the kitchen.

“I told you it was going to rain,” Soren blows wet hair away from his face.

“That was a freak storm,” Ike says as he shuts the back door behind them.

“Goodness me! You’re both soaked through!” Micaiah bounces in from the dining room, “Stay right there! We’ll draw you a bath and get-”

“No need,” Soren interjects, “A fresh set of clothes and some towels will do. And have Stefan light the fire in the den.”

“Alright, alright,” She sighs, but perks up at the sight of the basket Ike’s carrying, “Oh? Were you two out fishing?”

“Yeah,” Ike holds open the basket so she can see and before he can say anything else, an unmanned cart zips into the room and carries it off.

“Well I suppose that’s dinner solved then. I’ll get some towels for you. Sothe! Sooooothe!” She calls out for the stoic sugar bowl who only begrudgingly shows up once Ike and Soren have left the kitchen.

The rain falls in thick sheets outside the hallway windows. Lightning flashes followed by the sharp crack of thunder.

“It’s really comin’ down out there, isn’t it?” Ike muses.

“You should prepare to stay here tonight,” Soren’s voice is soft and hesitant, “It won’t let up until after dark and the path won’t have good footing for your horse…”

“I can think of worse places to be stuck during a storm,” Ike catches up to Soren, and grins.

“Incorrigib-,” Soren coughs a few times before he can finish his sentence.

“Did you catch a cold?” Ike asks. Soren shakes his head.

“No, I’m fine,” He coughs a couple more times, “Just… something caught in my throat.”

The look on Soren’s face is a bit weird, but the cough doesn’t sound bad enough for concern so Ike rubs his back a couple of times as they walk into the den.

It’s sparsely furnished like the rest of the castle. Only the necessities are present - a low table, a lamp, a thick rug, an ornate sofa and a couple of armchairs. 

Ike’s always wondered where all the decor went. The vases, paintings, tapestries, statues… those objects typical of an opulent lifestyle. He’s seen broken ones, ripped paintings, torn curtains, but all of the living spaces Soren frequents lack any unnecessary furnishings, damaged or otherwise.

Stefan arrives moments later with a comically large assortment of clothing. He’s lucky there are some pieces in his size given how much smaller Soren is in comparison. The candlestick busies himself with the fireplace while Ike peels off his soaked clothing. He’s debating about what to do with his undergarments - going without would let them dry since there are none to choose from, but he’s not sure if that’s considered polite - when a violet glint catches his eye.

It’s from Soren. He’s tucked himself behind one of the taller armchairs to disrobe, but it’s not quite tall enough to hide him completely. Ike can see his bare shoulders, black scales glistening in the firelight. He bends over and mostly disappears behind the chair, but his tail is completely visible along with the soft curve of his hips and the ridges of firmer scales along his spine.

He swallows.

His undergarments are cold and wet, and that may be the reason he hesitates before removing them because there are other parts of him that are quite the opposite temperature and he doesn’t quite understand why.

He does remove them eventually and finishes redressing before Soren does. He tosses his wet things in a basket that Stefan carried in and does his best to look at anything but what little he can see of Soren from behind the chair.

Not that there’s much to look at. The only thing even remotely out of place besides all the clothing is a thick blanket folded on one side of the couch and a small book. 

Ike picks it up and flips through it. It certainly doesn’t look like Soren’s usual brand of literature. He’s hardly one for fiction. Perhaps it belongs to Reyson.

Although this does give him an idea.

“Dinner won’t be for a little while. Have a seat,” Soren twists his hair in a fresh towel, finally dressed and decent. There’s something a little… intimate about his movements and lack of layered robes. That Soren trusts Ike enough to relax to this extent is a real testament to how close they’ve become in just a few short months, “Oh so that’s where that book went.”

“You were reading this?” Ike asks.

“On Reyson’s recommendation, yes. Why? Are you interested in it?” He releases his hair from the towel and drops it in the basket, thanking Stefan as he skips out of the room.

“It looks interesting yeah,” He says with a smile, “I thought we could read it together,” He sets the book down on the couch, and picks up the blanket instead, throwing it around his shoulders before retrieving the book and plopping himself down on the floor in front of the hearth.

Soren blinks at him.

“Together?” He slowly crouches beside Ike and yelps when he’s pulled close and tucked between Ike’s legs.

“Yeah, but I’m not a fast reader, so I think I’ll just listen in,” Ike can feel Soren shudder slightly against his chest.

“You really want me to read to you?” Soren’s tone is incredulous as he twists to look Ike in the face, “You’re not serious,” Ike tilts his head and grins, “You  _ are _ serious. Ike, you’re not a child.”

“I’m not but,” He draws out the vowel, “I want to listen to you.”

Soren doesn’t say anything as Ike tucks the book into Soren’s hands and his head against his shoulder. 

He’s nervous though. Ike can feel the faint thudding of his heart where his chest meets Soren’s back. He wraps his arms loosely around Soren’s stomach and gives him an encouraging hum.

“...Alright,” Soren says softly and opens the book, “If you insist… but only until dinner’s ready.”

Ike smiles against the smooth scales of Soren’s partially exposed shoulder.

He’s asleep by the second chapter.

\-----

“Ike.”

“Ike!”

“Ike, will you pull your head out of the clouds for  _ five minutes _ ?!” Mist tugs at his wrist with all the strength her slender body can muster. Ike doesn’t budge but he does shake himself free of his daydream.

“Huh? Oh! Uh, sorry,” Ike takes the basket Mist was holding and bashfully rubs the back of his neck, “I wasn’t paying attention. What were you saying?”

Mist huffs and glowers at him.

“Seriously, what is with you?” She chides, “You were the one who asked me to help you today, so come on stupid! What’s the next thing on your list?”

Right, the list. Soren gave him a list of necessities he was supposed to pick up. He squints at it and waits for the letters to stop bouncing around. He’s having an unusually difficult time focusing today.

“Jars,” He says finally, “Oh, I think these are for the fish. We’ll need to get some big ones then.”

“Jars?” Mist laughs, “Really?”

“Yeah, really,” Ike tucks the list back into his pocket, “Now where do we go for jars?”

Mist rolls her eyes and tugs him by the wrist towards one end of the market.

He truly is grateful for her help. He’s been out of sorts since he left the castle that morning after waking up on the floor beside a dying fire with Soren fast asleep nuzzling his chest. He doesn’t remember anything that happened in the book they were reading, barely remembers dinner, and only vaguely remembers the feeling of Soren’s scales beneath his fingertips and the fact that he was, in fact, without his undergarments.

He spent ages just watching the sage sleep, absently stroking his hair and horns in turn. There were tiny fireworks popping in his chest the entire time with one gigantic explosion at the sight of Soren blearily blinking as he woke up.

Since then, Ike’s been unable to focus. His mind keeps going back and replaying the last twenty four hours on repeat and Ike is  _ convinced _ there’s something wrong with him.

He lets Mist negotiate with the glass merchant. There’s no way he trusts himself to successfully navigate an exchange. 

Scarlet eyes haunt his mind…

“Ike!” Mist slaps his arm hard and jolts him back to reality.

“Sorry,” He says.

“What is  _ wrong _ with you today? You’re like some love struck-” Ike’s stomach fills with dread as his sister’s lips curl into a devious smirk, “Oh. Oooohhhh…”

“Shut up,” Ike groans.

“Something happened,” She teases, “Hmm… last night maybe? Maybe the storm wasn’t the reason you didn’t come home until the morning?”

“ _ Shut up, _ ” Ike grunts, cheeks flushing slightly.

“Ah ha! I’m right, aren’t I?” She laughs, “Finally after literal  _ years _ you two made some progress! I’m proud of you, big brother!” Ike opens his mouth to chastise her but stops short.

“....Years?” He repeats.

Mist turns to him, head tilted and eyebrow raised.

“Yeah?” She says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “You’ve only been in love with your little sage for  _ forever. _ It’s not a secret, dummy.”

Ike stops walking.

His mind is blank.

“What are you talking about?” He must sound quite serious because the smile drops from Mist’s face when she sees it.

Then she whacks him on the head.

“Your memory is the  _ worst, _ ” She huffs, “What would Soren say if he knew you kept forgetting-”

“Whoa whoa whoa, back up,” Ike nearly slurs through his panic, “What do you mean forgetting?”

Mist looks confused, then shocked, then covers her mouth like she doesn’t trust herself to say anything else. Ike pulls her wrist away from her face, “Mist what do you mean forgetting? What did I forget?”

“Absolutely nothing,” She laughs nervously, “I’m just exaggerating. You know me, little miss makes too big of a deal out of absolutely nothing! That’s me-”

She stops mid-sentence as another voice, booming and angry, fills the market square.

“I asked you where you got this,” It’s Tibarn. Ike recognizes him in an instant. His voice is angry, threatening, and his attendants are nowhere in sight. 

“I-i-i-i-i don’t know, sir!” The stallkeeper cowers beneath Tibarn’s hulking mass, “I-i-i bought it from another seller in Begnion! I never asked where he got it from!”

“Shit,” Ike hisses, “We’ll talk later!” He shoves the basket into her arms and pushes through the crowd.

Tibarn’s lips pull back in a furious snarl. He doesn’t even flinch when Ike grips his shoulder and tugs him backwards.

“Hey, take it easy!” He says, inserting himself between Tibarn and the stallkeeper, “The hell is going on?”

“T-t-t-this man is harassing me!” The stallkeeper squeaks from behind Ike. He jumps when Tibarn lunges forward to grab him again, but Ike intercepts. He glares down at Ike but Ike doesn’t flinch. It takes a minute, but the pirate captain eases back and clicks his tongue.

“I was just asking where he got this,” Tibarn holds up a small ring of silver for Ike to see.

And that’s all it is really. A ring made of silver, cast to resemble ornate knotwork. It’s a unique design for sure, but certainly nothing for a pirate to lose his temper over.

Ike glances back at the stallkeeper and his wares. He’s seen him before entering town on the monthly merchant shipments. There’s never been any talk of him selling stolen or poor quality goods. On the contrary, his wares are a bit too expensive for a plague town. The man usually spends more gold buying rare Daein jewelry to resell in Crimea or Begnion than he makes selling rings and bangles.

He sighs.

“Pay the man for the ring, Tibarn,” Ike says calmly. Tibarn’s nostrils flare but before he can lash out, Ike interrupts, “If you cause any more of a scene, you’ll be chased out of town and unable to fulfill your contract,” he pauses to let Tibarn mull over his words then adds, “So just pay the man and be done with it.”

Tibarn considers him for a long while. So long in fact, the watchful eyes of the crowd pull away from them and the din of the market ups its volume. 

He finally relents, grumbling whilst shoving a handful of coin into the stallkeeper’s hand and storming out of the square with Ike close at his heels.

“What the hell was that about?” Ike asks once they reach the empty docks. Tibarn had been unusually quiet as they walked, rolling the ring between his fingers with a furrowed brow.

“Sorry, kid,” Tibarn leans against a wooden crate, eyes fixed on the ring, “I got a little worked up. You shouldn’t have had to see that.”

“Worked up over… what?” Ike asks. 

...Actually he should probably forget about Tibarn for a while, go find Mist and continue their conversation, but it was weird and confusing, and Ike kind of wants to focus on problems that aren’t his.

So he waits for Tibarn to collect his thoughts.

“This ring belonged to someone I knew,” The words, ‘and cared about’ go unspoken, but to Ike their presence is obvious, “I never thought I’d see it again. Especially not here.”

“How do you know it’s the same one?” It’s just a ring, Ike muses. They all look pretty much the same. A fancy metal loop with the occasional set gem, easy to replicate, easy to replace if you have the coin. Seems odd to get so worked up over something like that.

Tibarn’s smile is wistful. He holds the ring with a delicacy no one would ever believe he possessed if they only took one good look at him.

“Because I carved our names on the inside,” His voice is nostalgic, blackened by sadness.

“That… sounds kind of like a wedding ring,” Ike says. After all, the only rings he knows to get engraved are those used for marriage. Every other ring is just a decoration. No need for sentimentality.

Tibarn sighs and looks out over the sea.

“Do you remember what I told you the other day? About the Begnion invasion?” Tibarn asks. Ike nods, knowing full well Tibarn isn’t looking at him, and waits, “The truth is, Begnion came to the capitol for trade negotiations. They wanted to harvest wood from our forests and… the discussions didn’t go over well. They only brought a small force with them to escort the envoys, but that didn’t stop them from setting fire to parts of the city to encourage my King to sign the deal.”

Tibarn’s posture slumps as he pushes his wind swept bangs away from his face.

“But he didn’t. Instead he forced Begnion out of the city and refused to see their diplomats, which of course made Begnion angry and… well… a week later they returned enmasse. Set fire to the whole city. Slaughtered thousands of us, and hundreds were taken prisoner to be later sold into slavery.”

He stares at the innocent ring resting in his palm.

“I proposed the day before. With this,” He nods his head towards the silver band, “And the next day he was gone.”

Ike stares at the boardwalk, and swallows.

“...I’m… so sorry,” He says and means every word. 

Tibarn inhales, and stretches.

“I’ve been looking for him for five years. I don’t even know if he’s still alive,” He says loudly, “He was sold to a noble house in Begnion a few years ago, but no one’s seen him since. This… this is the first clue I’ve found in… ages,” Tibarn shakes his head then chuckles as he tries to slip the ring onto his pinky and gets it stuck before the first knuckle.

Ike places a hand on Tibarn’s shoulder and offers him a small sympathetic smile.

“Wait here for a bit and I’ll go smooth things over with the merchant,” He says. 

“Huh?” Tibarn says dumbly.

“That ring’s the first lead you’ve had, right?” Ike says. Tibarn nods slowly, “So let me go explain the situation and then you can go back and talk to him…  _ calmly _ . Try not to scare him this time.”

Tibarn twists the ring around the tip of his pinky and smiles.

“You’re a real good kid, you know that, Ike?” He claps him back on the shoulder, and looks back out towards his ship at the edge of the harbor, “Tell him I’ll buy him a meal.”

“Will do.”

When he turns around again, Tibarn isn’t the pirate captain he knows, but a lonely man desperately clinging to the memories of the person he loves.

He wonders what it must be like to love someone so much that you’ll keep searching and waiting for them years on end…

In his mind Soren smiles at him, and immediately Ike realizes that he doesn’t have to wonder at all. 

He already knows.

\-----

And of course Mist avoids him after her slip of the tongue at the market. His sister frustrates him on a good day, so Ike gives up questioning her rather quickly. 

He makes several attempts to bring the subject up with his father, but Greil is twice as slippery as his sister and every question Ike asks ends with his father throwing more work his way. More work means less time to spare for Soren so he abandons that avenue quickly as well.

His last option is to ask Soren but… In light of recent realizations, Ike’s not sure he wants to ask him anything about their possible past at all. 

And maybe it’s not important. Maybe he doesn’t need to know, just like he doesn’t need to know who the last Liaison was before him - although it’s pretty damn suspicious that no one will tell him that either. 

Ike  _ knows _ he has gaps in his memory. There are large chunks of time he can’t recall at all, but he always assumed that was normal. Surely other people have this problem? Or do they remember every part of their life no matter how benign? 

He leans against the back of his cart and sighs. 

The canvas covering shifts and Soren blearily climbs down. Ike jumps to his side immediately, an arm around his waist and a hand on his chest to steady him. There are two flowers in his hands - a red peony and a pink lady slipper - one for each of the patients in the cart.

Soren lets out a soft groan, letting his eyes fall shut as he breathes deeply against Ike’s shoulder.

“Tired?” It’s not really a question though Ike phrases it as one. Removing blossoms always leaves Soren drained.

Soren hums in response and slumps forward.

“Easy,” Ike pulls Soren back towards him, but he’s limp and unresponsive. 

Ike smiles.

He slips an arm behind Soren’s knees and lifts him, letting the sage’s head loll against his shoulder, fast asleep. He’s a little regretful that it’s going to be yet another day where they can’t really spend any time together, but knowing that Soren trusts him enough to allow himself to be completely unconscious and at Ike’s mercy, thrills him.

The servants are waiting for them in the entryway and quietly take the flowers so Ike can carry Soren back to his room to rest.

He hesitates after laying him there and it’s only after a few long minutes of watching him sleep soundly in the moonlight that Ike kneels beside him and presses the lightest of kisses to Soren’s forehead.

Pulling back, he bites his lips and takes one deep, long breath to calm himself down. As much as he desperately wants to curl up next to him, there are two sleeping patients in his cart outside and he can’t very well just… leave them there.

Reluctantly, he leaves the room, glancing back at the sleeping figure no less than twice before reaching the stairs.

“Take the flower, Sothe,” It’s Micaiah’s voice that he hears first when he reaches the main floor.

“No.”

“But it’s your turn! I took the last one,” She sounds a little exasperated. 

Curiosity carries Ike towards the kitchen where the voices are coming from.

“But it’s…  _ pink _ !” Sothe spits out the word like it personally offended him and Ike’s more confused than ever.

“Who cares?!” Micaiah groans, “No one’s going to be looking at you, you big baby.”

“ _ I _ have to look at me,” Sothe sneers.

“Right, because you spend  _ sooo _ much time staring at yourself in the mirror,” Micaiah clicks her tongue at him, “Just take it.”

“What are you doing?” Ike says, stepping into the room.

The three of them, Micaiah, Sothe and Stefan, all turn to look at him in sync.

“Ah, Ike!” Stefan grins at him from his perch on the table, “How’s the young master?”

“Asleep,” Ike leans against a nearby pillar, “Two blossoms in a night is too much for him, I think.” 

Whatever conversation Stefan was looking to start is truncated quickly by Micaiah and Sothe’s bickering.

“Take. The stupid. Flower!” Micaiah hisses at Sothe, shoving the lady slipper against his porcelain face.

“I. Don’t. Want to!” He grunts back. 

“Oh for the love of- Give it here!” Stefan snatches the flower with a waxy limb and smacks it against his body. It glows a brilliant white, then vanishes leaving a few glimmers of light sparkling where it used to be a brass lady slipper carved into the main shaft of Stefan’s body.

“Stefan that was completely unnecessary! You’ve taken two in a row now,” Micaiah huffs and a little puff of steam escapes out her tea spout.

“Then Sothe will have no trouble taking the next two, no matter what color they are,” Stefan retorts with a strained smile, “After all, these blossoms are the only thing keeping the lovely people of Daein alive. Surely he can tolerate a little unfortunate coloring if it means keeping a little girl alive and well?” 

It’s one hell of a guilt trip Stefan takes him on. Sothe at least has the decency to look a little embarrassed. He grumbles a little as he nods his consent.

Ike feels a bit out of place.

And exceptionally confused.

“What do you mean, ‘keeping her alive and well’…?” He repeats slowly, “I thought the flowers were burned or something after Soren extracted them… wait, are all the floral patterns on your uh,  _ bodies _ from the Hanahaki!?”

The three caretakers share a look.

“Well, yes,” Micaiah offers, “I thought the young master already explained everything to you?”

“Clearly not,” Sothe clicks his tongue which earns him a smack from Micaiah’s spout. Paying them no attention, Stefan tries to offer Ike some form of enlightenment.

“I don’t know how much the young master has told you, and frankly we don’t understand the finer details very well ourselves,” Stefan says, “But from what I do understand, we take the Hanahaki blossoms into our bodies as a sort of… stop-gap.”

Ike furrows his brow in confusion before Micaiah chimes in.

“The blossoms take root in the hearts of the Daein people,” She says, “They spend varying amounts of time feeding on their host until they produce a final bud that sheds and creates petals constantly until the Hanahaki blossoms. Blossoming kills the host, as does forcibly removing it”

“But Soren removes the blossoms all the time…?” Ike says.

“He doesn’t take the whole thing,” Sothe adds, “When he does, death comes swiftly.”

“That’s…” There’s a quick flash of a small child’s face crying in the woods with a blood-soaked dhalia in his hands. Ike recognizes it from one of his recent dreams, but why would he think about that at this exact moment?

“Soren removes everything but the roots of the blossom to buy the host time. To do that, he moves the blossom from a living host into… one of us,” Stefan crosses his candlesticks across his chests, “We’re kept aware by the young master’s magic alone - our hearts don’t beat, so the Hanahaki stops growing.”

Ike lets his words sink in.

“Is… that why Soren created you?” He says it more to himself than to Stefan, and he’s certainly unprepared for the outburst that follows.

“Created us?!” Sothe nearly shrieks, “We’re not-! That’s-!”

“The young master didn’t create us, Ike,” Micaiah quips, “We’re as human as you are, just… with a slightly different affliction.”

Ike is stunned into silence.

“ _ What!?” _

“You think P-Soren was the only one cursed?!” Sothe spits, “Well he wasn’t. Every single person in this goddess-forsaken castle was cursed. Maybe not with the Hanahaki but still! You think we wanted to be tableware?!” Micaiah whacks him with her spout again to shut him up. It only partially works, as he continues to sputter under his breath as Stefan talks over him.

“Those of us who didn’t escape the castle before Goldoa invaded were turned into furniture,” He smiles sadly, “A hundred of us… maybe more, at the time.”

“But there are only three of you,” Ike sputters without thinking.

“Awake, yes,” Stefan sighs, “The rest were moved to the rooms upstairs.”

“That’s-” Ike swallows, “But why? Why leave them like that?!”

“It’s not a simple thing,” Micaiah says softly, “I… He… he tried to wake them up, but… not everyone… understood what happened… when Goldoa invaded. A lot of them blamed the young master. Some of them even tried to kill him. Others… couldn’t handle a non-human body and…”

Ike thinks back to all the shattered pots, splintered tables and torn upholstery.

He feels sick.

“We’re the only sensible ones left.” Sothe clicks his tongue again.

“It’s just as well,” Stefan shrugs, “The amount of magic it takes to maintain awareness for us while suppressing the effects of the Hanahaki on his own body is quite high. If there were more of us, we might actually be in a bad situation.”

“I suppose that’s true…” Micaiah sighs.

“What an absolutely depressing topic to wake up to,” Reyson yawns as he enters the kitchen.

“Ah master Reyson! You’re awake,” Stefan greets him with a smile that betrays nothing of the severity of the previous topic.

“Mmhmm,” He hums, “I’ve also come to remind Ike of two sleeping people in the back of his cart that he may want to escort back to town before they wake.”

“Ah!” Ike had been so caught up in the conversation that he had forgotten about the people he had been escorting, “Right. I should get going.” 

He turns to leave, but hesitates after catching Reyson’s eye as he remembers his last conversation with Tibarn. He wonders briefly if he should say anything about it.

“I’ll see you out,” Reyson says. 

With a small wave to the caretakers on the kitchen table, Reyson follows him out into the courtyard.

It’s a little awkward as Ike isn’t sure why Reyson followed him. He’s walked through the castle enough times that there’s no way he’d get lost. So why follow him out?

“You looked like you had something to say to me,” Reyson said. 

It takes several seconds for Ike to realize he had been musing out loud.

“Oh,” He rubs the back of his neck and comes up empty on anything else to say.

“Well?” Reyson prods.

Ike’s mind is still reeling from his talk with Stefan, and he’s not quite sure what to say. Where does he start?

“Do you ever get homesick?” He blurts out. 

Reyson looks a little stunned at first, but that look quickly shifts to amusement.

“Well that’s certainly not what I was expecting,” He chuckles, “What prompted that?”

Ike chews the inside of his cheek. He hadn’t meant to say that. Surely there was a better segway into asking about his homeland and the pirates in Nevassa than, ‘do you ever get homesick.’ 

“Um,” He digs the heel of his boot into the dirt and fidgets with Ragnell’s reins, “There’s some pi- _ visitors _ in town that claim to be from Serenes. I asked Soren about it and he said that’s where you’re from.”

The smile falls from Reyson’s face.

“Visitors from Serenes…?” His voice is low and quiet, like he’s reluctant to even speak the words aloud,”Truly?”

Not exactly the reaction Ike was expecting, but then again, it’s not like he’s thought this through.

“Well that’s what they said,” He mumbles quickly, and hoists himself into the saddle, “It’s a long shot but I thought there might be someone you knew among them, and uh… maybe you’d want to go see for yourself.”

“That’s unlikely,” Reyson says a little too quickly, “The people of Serenes are gone-”

“What if they’re not?” Ike interjects.

Reyson stops mid-sentence with skepticism plastered all over his countenance.

“...It’s far more likely that the claims are false,” He finally says quietly. 

In that moment, Ike can’t help but think that Soren and Reyson might actually be quite a bit alike. Both are quite reluctant to hope for good things.

What a terrible thing to bond over.

“Wouldn’t you rather be wrong?” Ike tilts his head to the side, “Couldn’t hurt to take a look. And if they’re really not from Serenes, then they’re probably lying about other things too and letting them stay in Nevassa could be really bad.”

Reyson twists the tips of his hair between his fingers.

“I… suppose it wouldn’t hurt to take a look,” He says.

\-----

The ring in his hand weighs almost nothing, and yet carrying it around takes the same amount of effort as it would to drag a boulder clear across Daein. It sits in Tibarn’s palm innocent, glittering like the ocean in the light of the setting sun.

He’s no closer to finding his lost prince. After dinner with the merchant he purchased the ring from, the situation feels a bit more hopeless than before.

“He was a real piece of shit,” The stallkeeper had slurred through his fifth beer of the evening, “Fancied himself some connoisseur of beauty.’ Spent his tenants money on exotic pets, jewels and gaudy furnishings. Word was his latest purchase was some sort of giant bird and some giant albino bird that he must’a got through some questionable means. People started snoopin’ around his place, and wouldn’t ya know it? That bastard wasn’t just into exotic animals, he was into exotic people too. Buyin’ and sellin’ em to other nobles for god knows what purpose. Sick fuck.”

“So what happened to him?” Tibarn had asked.

“Rebellion,” He replied after a long swig, “His tenants seized his property one night. Trashed his house, released all his pets - slaves too. No one’s seen him since. S’probably dead.”

That was all Tibarn could get out of the man. Nothing more on the ‘albino slave’ that he’s almost certain is the one he’s searching for. 

He sighs, staring out at the sun setting beneath the sea from his seat on the docks. He can hear his crew helping some nearby dockworkers shift around some crates amidst the faint cries of the gulls. If not for the gaping void where his heart should be, this might be a nearly perfect moment of enjoyment… but it’s difficult to think of anything but the tear stained smile on his lovers face the night Tibarn asked him for his hand.

The stallkeeper said the ring was salvaged from the noble’s wreck of an estate but that the place had been otherwise empty - at least as far as residents were concerned. There were no bodies to be found, animal or human.

It’s a poor sort of consolation knowing that his prince had been at such a place and subjected to - Tibarn doesn’t want to think about that. But he wasn’t dead.  _ Isn’t _ dead.

And that’s… something.

Ulki calls from him from the upper docks, so he shoves the ring back into his pocket and joins the rest of his crew in moving what’s left of the local fisherman’s catch of the day. They’re not getting paid for it, but some light work now and then keeps them busy while passing the time waiting for Almedha to finish whatever it was she came to Nevassa for.

“Would ya look at the size of that thing!” Janaff whistles, pointing at something perched on the roof of one of the nearby warehouses.

“Is that a heron?” Ulki squints, “It’s  _ enormous _ .”

The rest of the pirates stare and comment in awe at the abnormally large bird, Tibarn included. It truly is quite the sight - easily the height of an ostrich or a full grown human. He’s never seen anything quite like it.

...In fact, it… looks like the bird the stallkeeper described the night before. The one that twisted noble bought.

But what would be the odds of the birds being one and the same?

“This yer first time seein’ the Sage’s bird?” One of the local fisherman asks one of the pirate crew.

“The Sage’s bird?” Tibarn asks him.

“Yea, he visits town now and again carrying a shopping list. We load ‘im up with whatever’s on the list and he takes it back to our Sage. He’s a smart bugger, that one!” The fisherman laughs, “You’ll get used to seein’ ‘im around the place. Doesn’t like fish though. Strange trait for a heron.”

The heron tilts its head, seemingly making eye contact with Tibarn. As strange as it is to have a staring contest with a bird of all things, he can’t bring himself to look away. The bird stares at him for an uncomfortably long period of time before spreading its gigantic wings and taking flight.

Tibarn bids his crew a hasty goodbye, and takes off after the bird in a full-on sprint. It glides over the city leisurely as Tibarn curses, pushes through crowds and darts around buildings desperate to not lose sight of it.

There’s no way it’s a coincidence. The ring, the bird - that’s two of that noble’s  _ possessions _ in one incredibly isolated location. There  _ must _ be more. There must be something that will help him find the one he’s looking for.

He’s out of breath and sweating by the time he reaches the edge of town. For a moment he thinks he’s lost the trail, but a glint of white feathers catches his eye and he doesn’t hesitate to chase it into the woods.

\-----

“Ike you’re supposed to be helping,” Soren scolds a little too fondly for it to carry any real weight.

“I am helping,” Ike pops another wild sour cherry in his mouth and plucks out the stem.

“You’re supposed to be helping  _ me, _ ” Soren rolls his eyes.

“One more, then I’ll help,” He spits out a pit, pops another one in his mouth and moves to kneel next to Soren in the herb garden, “Alright what are we doing?”

Soren lets out a sigh that should sound disappointed, but he’s still smiling slightly when he does it. He has a difficult time getting angry with Ike. He’s far too genuine for any of his antics to be truly upsetting.

“We’re picking these,” Soren pinches the base of a lemon balm stem and holds it up for Ike to look at, “Anything that’s tall enough with good leaves and no flowers or buds.”

“It smells really weird,” Ike rubs one of the leaves between his fingers and inhales, “Actually it kind of smells like unripe cherries,” Soren quirks an eyebrow at him, “Can you really make the blossom suppressants out of these?”

“It’s one of the many ingredients, yes,” Soren moves to the nearby lavender bed, selectively plucking stems and laying them in his basket. Several stems later, he stops, noting a severe lack of lemon balm stems next to his lavender. He looks at Ike and immediately has to stifle his laughter.

Ike is of course distracted. His face is buried in no less than six long lemon balm stems.

“What on  _ earth _ are you doing?” Soren giggles.

“Well they just,” Ike takes a deep breath, “Smell good,” His eyes shift back and forth between the small sour cherry tree nearby and the row of lemon balm in front of him. He tosses his stems in the basket and stands, “I’ll be right back.”

“Ike, stop eating those,” Soren chides, “That’s disgusting.”

“I think you mean  _ delicious, _ ” Ike plucks a few more from the tree until his hand is overflowing with them. He puts a stemless one against his lips and meets Soren’s eyes, grinning as he sucks it in and  _ bites _ down.

Soren grimaces.

“Your sense of taste is horribly flawed,” He plucks a few more choice stems, nearly jumping out of his robes when Ike suddenly appears kneeling beside him. 

“How about a no-thank-you bite?” Ike holds a single berry between two fingers just in front of Soren’s nose. He scrunches it up.

“No, thank you-”

“Bite!” Soren pushes his hand against Ike’s face as the young man laughs at him. 

“I swear you do this just to goad me,” Soren smirks.

“I think if you actually tried one, you’d like them,” Ike says with his cheek still squished against Soren’s palm, “Open up!”

“Absolutely not. I have no desire to try your sour bitter berries,” He quips back.

“Just one!”

“No.”

“What if I ask nicely?”

“No.”

“C’mon.”

“Ike, I-” Soren’s cut off by a stemless berry pressed against his lips. He keeps them firmly shut, biting the insides to keep himself from grinning at Ike’s childish antics.

“Oh, c’mon, please?” Ike inches a little closer but Soren doesn’t budge. He raises one taunting eyebrow and Ike takes the bait, “That does it,” He drops the rest of the berries and with a delighted shriek, Soren scrambles just out of reach, but doesn’t quite manage to escape his seeker.

Ike tackles him around the middle, both laughing like children as Soren squirms in his hold. Thus begins a game - Ike grabbing a limb and Soren twisting free, both rolling in the dirt carelessly. Ike manages to pin him several times with one hand, trying to press the berry against Soren’s mouth with the other, but that also leaves one of Soren’s hands free to pinch and tickle Ike’s midsection in retaliation so he can break free - and it works every time.

Just as Soren believes he’s won, believes that Ike will concede and allow them both to lay dusty and breathless and happy in the flowerbeds, he’s pinned again, only this time he has no free hands and the berry is perched neatly between Ike’s teeth.

Soren’s left wide eyed and gasping as Ike descends. His lips part just enough for the berry to sneak through and oh- Ike probably wasn’t expecting that because he overshoots his goal just a little and their lips meet.

Fireworks crack inside Soren’s chest, glittering behind his eyelids as they fall shut and a warm tongue slips the berry lazily into his mouth. Soren is frozen in place, falling apart beneath the boy above him, desperately wishing Ike would pull away so he can try to piece himself back together again.

But Ike doesn’t.

He hadn’t planned things to unfold this way - Soren knows this,  _ knows _ Ike - but his momentary astonishment becomes an intentional move. He leans in. Presses closer. Licks the cherry and smothers Soren’s tongue with an indescribable sweetness that he barely registers the bitter taste of the juice as the berry pops.

Then Ike shifts and Soren whimpers.

His wrists are no longer pinned to the ground and he can’t stop himself from wrapping them around Ike’s neck. At first he thinks Ike will shake him off, but instead he finds his head cradled in large hands, a leg shifting between his and a broad chest leaning down against him. Ike pulls away for no longer than a breath before he’s pulling Soren back in for another kiss, and then another and another.

Soren nearly loses himself in the feeling, doesn’t notice the berry being passed back and forth between them until there’s nothing but a raw pit left tucked beneath his tongue. He claws at Ike’s back. Heat pools in his abdomen and suddenly he becomes very aware of exactly what’s taking place though he hasn’t the strength to pull himself away.

He squirms, thigh sliding between Ike’s legs brushing against hot and a little stiff. Ike gasps against his lips, eyes fluttering open, hazey and dark. Soren could drown in those eyes.

Ike breathes heavily, their lips touching, although not quite enough to be a kiss. 

He sits up pushing his bangs away from his face and spits out the pit he stole from Soren’s mouth. Soren lets his arms fall back against the ground while he catches his breath. He tries to look anywhere but at Ike, too afraid of what he might see if he does. That doesn’t last long. Ike loops an arm around Soren’s middle and hoists him upright, giving Soren no choice but to look at his face or his groin.

Soren chooses the former. He’s not ready to think about the possibilities that have just opened up to him.

Worries be damned, for Ike is smiling at him, lips as red as the berries he’d been eating without a hint of disgust or regret anywhere to be found. He suddenly feels shy licking his lips to taste the lingering sweetness.

“Good, right?” The slight crack in Ike’s breathless voice puts Soren at ease - but whether Ike is talking about the kiss or the cherry… Soren isn’t sure. 

He chooses the latter.

“You have the weirdest taste,” He says, voice far less steady than he would have liked. 

Oh, he’s trembling. That certainly makes keeping an even tone difficult.

He expects a friendly jib or for Ike to laugh good-naturedly at his blatant display of nerves, but instead Ike gets this really profound look on his face. His soft smile turns Soren’s bones to jelly.

“Maybe,” He says and somehow Soren doesn’t think they’re talking about the same thing. 

They sit like that, legs intertwined and trying to catch their breath for a long time before Ike finally says, “We should probably finish up? It’s... getting dark.”

“Right,” Soren says a little too quickly, scrambling to disentangle his legs from Ike’s.

It’s awkward but in a good way. It’s the sort of awkwardness that feels like a mellow rush of adrenaline. The kind that he can’t stop smiling through even though his retorts are awful and forced and Ike’s poor attempts at jokes fall flat but Soren laughs anyway. 

It’s sweet, it’s shy, and most importantly, it’s  _ new _ .

Soren catches Ike gazing openly at him and he wants to duck behind the lavender to hide from that look that sets him on  _ fire. _

That doesn’t stop him from taking Ike’s outstretched hand when it’s time to leave and letting himself be pulled to his feet. It doesn’t stop him from letting their fingers lace together, sweaty and muddy and covered in sap. It doesn’t stop him from leaning against Ike’s shoulder, or from Ike playfully leaning back against him until he nearly topples over.

The short walk back to the castle feels far too long and incredibly short at the same time. Either way the sun has set by the time they return.

Neither attempt to open the door. They stop walking in sync, turning to one either, opening and closing their mouths in a failed attempt to say anything at all, then turn away again, hands still linked together.

What does one do in a moment like this? Soren has next to no experience. Ike seems to be in a similar situation. Does he invite him in? Do they part here? Was the kiss a one-time thing that Ike happened to be ok with, or is Soren allowed to ask for a continuation?

“Well, well, well! Seems like you two had fun today,” Soren nearly leaps out of his skin at the sound of Reyson’s voice laughing from behind him. He whips around just in time to see the glittering lights dissipate where his wings used to be mere moments before, a retort hot on his tongue only-

Reyson isn’t the only person there.

Another man, taller, bigger, face flushed and gasping for breath with leaves stuck here and there stares at them wide eyed from the entrance to the courtyard.

Magic prickles at Soren’s fingertips, ready to strike at the intruder but Ike lets go of his hand, choosing instead to grab Soren’s hood and tug it over his head. 

Ike knows this person, Soren reasons, otherwise he would have let him strike, or done so himself. Whoever this is, Ike doesn’t consider them a threat.

With a calmer mind, he looks again and understands.

He also knows this man.

“....Reyson!?” The man almost whispers through his heavy breathing, but the sound echoes with the force of the canon. 

Reyson whips around, scrutinizing the stranger.

“Who are you?” He says with unveiled skepticism.

He gazes at Reyson with the sort of longing that would break a weaker man’s heart, but Reyson doesn’t flinch. He looks to Ike who offers nothing, then back to the man who doesn’t recognize him. 

Soren curses under his breath. He knows this man fairly well. He knows he’s understood what’s taken place, why he’s hidden away in Nevassa castle hundreds of miles away from his home - and who he is.

Soren steps forward and pulls his hood back forcing his face to be as blank as possible as he stands beside Reyson.

“Tibarn,” He says, voice smooth and curt, “You seem well.”

“Little Pelle-” He says as recognition seeps in. Tibarn doesn’t comment on Soren’s scales or jet black horns. It’s certainly not the biggest shock he’s received tonight. There’s still more to come, and he certainly knows it. 

“Soren,” Soren cuts him off, “It’s been a long time. I’m hardly little,” He nudges a stunned Reyson with his shoulder and jerks his head as a sign for Tibarn to follow him, “We’ll talk inside.”

“Soren?!” Reyson squawks, “You can’t be serious? Letting a stranger into the castle-”

“I’m no stranger,” Tibarn says, as he falls to one knee, “Your majesty, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Tibarn. I’m a member of the Serenes Royal Guard, assigned to you and your sister,” He looks up and smiles wide, tears in his eyes as he speaks, “She’ll be so happy to know you are safe.”

“Leanne,” Reyson whispers, “She… survived...?”

“You can talk more inside,” Soren snaps from the doorway, pointedly ignoring Ike’s frantic gestures.

Tibarn stands, posture straight and perfect just as any well trained knight would, and offers his arm to Reyson who doesn’t take it.

Inside, Soren slumps against the wall and rubs his temples.

A fine mess they’ve gotten themselves into, he thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter we can finally do the whole romance (????) thing. Maybe the sexytimes too. Who knooooOOOoooOOoOOOooows???
> 
> (spoilers: I do. I know. I'm writing it.)


End file.
